


A Study in Friendship

by MorticiaYouSpokeFrench



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 114,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorticiaYouSpokeFrench/pseuds/MorticiaYouSpokeFrench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows that the Potter boy, the one with the abusive relatives, is hiding a secret, and sets out to solve the mystery. In the meantime, Harry sends a letter to Lord Voldemort in an attempt to come to an agreement with his enemy, and finds out that he and Tom Riddle aren't so different after all. The story of three lonely boys finding friendship in each other. Eventual Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Harry raised his quill, preparing to press it to his parchment, but then put it down again feeling torn. He had thought long and hard about what he was about to do, and he had made his decision, but it still felt like he was betraying his friends and Cedric's memory by doing this.

He had tried so hard to be selfless, to be good and noble and strong, to be worthy of the love his friends had given him. All his courageous actions ever since he had started going to Hogwarts were for his friends' benefit. Merlin knows he had never acted courageously or nobly before then. As a child he had been sneaky and selfish, he had cared for nobody but himself. He didn't think he was a bad person, but having grown up with no one to care for him or help him he had learned to look out for himself before anyone else.

Then, he came to Hogwarts and met his wonderful friends who enjoyed spending time with him, and cared about him like no one else in the world had done before. He hadn't wanted to disappoint them, hadn't wanted them to know the selfish side of him. The one that stole candy from a classmate, and then traded it with Piers Polkeiss in exchange for him keeping Dudley's gang away.

He thought of Hagrid's face when he told Harry that he would be a great wizard just like his parents. Dear Hagrid, who was so sure that Harry would be brave and noble and kind, just like his parents were. Harry had so wanted to be worthy of the high esteem that the man who was his first ever friend held for him. He wanted to be worthy of Hermione's affectionate hugs and Ron's companionship. So he had tried to be what they all wanted him to be, he tried hard and succeeded in acting in a way that was worthy of their admiration and friendship.

Still, he felt lonely sometimes. He knew that despite his big actions, in his heart of hearts he was still the Harry from Privet Drive. The selfish Harry who cared only for his own safety. Like that night, when they had gone to retrieve the philosopher's stone. His actions had been flawless, but in his heart he had wished that he had never discovered what the three headed dog was hiding, that he could go back upstairs to his lovely four-poster bed, and let someone else deal with the problem. He wished the same thing the night he went down to the chamber of secrets with Ron. The he would feel guilty for feeling that way, and he would wish that he could really be as brave and noble as his friends thought he was.

Sometimes, he wished that he could find someone that would know him for who he really was, and still care for him even if he was selfish and cowardly sometimes. It was a lonely feeling, knowing that there wasn't a single person in the world who knew him for who he really was and still loved him for it.

Still, even despite the bouts of loneliness and guilt, Harry was usually happy and thankful for the wonderful friends he had. But all of that was going to end now, and that was why Harry hesitated so, even though he knew that what he was about to do was necessary. He didn't want to betray his friends, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had to! He was so tired of the fear and the pain, of the nightmares. Being locked in his room for four days had given him a lot of time to think: he thought about how the dementor incident was just the beginning, how he didn't want to spend the rest of his life being afraid. He was sick of being the one who jumped into danger to save other people. He thought about how it was the time to do something to save himself.

And he decided that it was time. After four years of keeping to the charade, of acting like the good little Gryffindor he so wished he really was, he was going to do the cowardly and selfish thing.

He lowered the quill to the parchment again, and began to write:

_Voldemort,_

No, that was no good. He needed to be more respectful if he wanted to reach an agreement with the dark lord.

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know that I am the very last person you are expecting to hear from, considering how much you want me dead, but that's actually the reason I'm writing to you. I want to know why you want to kill me. We both know that what happened to you when I was a baby had absolutely nothing to do with me, it was my mom's sacrifice that saved me. Also, as you must know from spending a year attached to the back of Quirrell's head as he taught us, I'm a completely average wizard, and have no special powers whatsoever, so I really can't think of a way in which I would be a threat to you. I escaped you by pure luck, and since I can't count on getting lucky next time, and I really don't want to die, I think it would be in my best interest to get you to stop wanting to kill me. Only, I don't know why you want to kill me in the first place. Once I do know, maybe we'd be able to work something out between us. Maybe I could spy on Dumbledore for you or something?_

_Respectfully,_

_Harry Potter._

Harry read over the letter and grimaced. The whole letter sounded incredibly stupid. The whole idea of sending Voldemort a letter was incredibly stupid, but Harry could think of no other way to contact Voldemort, so he'd just have to settle for the letter, even if it didn't sit with him right- writing Voldemort a letter, as if he were his friend or something! Still, there was nothing for it, he wanted to survive and if doing something stupid and idiotic (and traitorous) was what it took to make it out of this war alive, then so be it.

He woke Hedwig up from her nap, and gave her the letter to give to Voldemort.

"Take this to Voldemort Hedwig"

She gave him a sharp look, almost as if she was wondering if he was crazy.

"No, I really mean it, bring this to Voldemort, it's a matter of life or death to me, and when you're done don't come back here. Uncle Vernon is in a really volatile mood, and I'm scared he'll lock you back up in your cage if you so much as make a sound. Anyways, I don't have the means to clean your cage now I'm locked in here, this place isn't fit for you to live in. Go to Ron and Hermione, they'll take good care of you till school starts up again."

Hedwig hooted reluctantly, but took off towards the sky.

As he watched Hedwig become a speck in the sky and vanish, he wondered at the fact that despite feeling guilty for what he had just done, there was a happiness blooming inside him. He was happy to be helping himself for once, to be doing something useful.

He turned away from the window with a slight smile on his face, not noticing the gray eyes that were watching him from the house next door.

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes, of number two Privet Drive, watched the Potter kid through his bedroom window. It seemed as though he given his owl a letter and then sent her off to deliver it. But that didn't make any sense, pigeons were used for delivering mail, not owls, and anyways, who used a pigeon to send mail nowadays? It was completely illogical! Another strange puzzle piece in the already complex mystery that Harry Potter had presented him with. The strangeness of the mystery didn't bother him, on the contrary: he was feeling positively giddy at the thought of such a complex and mysterious problem. He glanced at the boy's window again. He had not seen the boy leave the room for four days, he was probably locked in there. Further proof that the boy was being abused.

He had told the police of course, about how the Dursleys were abusing their nephew, but Lestrade said that he couldn't just arrest people because someone had suspicions that they were abusive. That made Sherlock angry- they weren't suspicions, they were deductions!

He had explained to Lestrade how suspicious it was that the Dursleys, who were always so ridiculously obsessed with showing what a normal, average family they were, were so quick to speak about how their nephew was a hooligan and a criminal. Almost as if they didn't want anyone to trust the boy or look too closely into his life.

He told Lestrade how the clothes that the Potter boy wore weren't some stupid punk fashion statement like the adults seemed to think, Sherlock knew enough about the way youth his age dressed to know that his clothes weren't the kind that were torn on purpose. His clothes were the kind of clothes poor people wore because they couldn't afford anything better- ugly, old, torn up. And yet the Dursleys were very well off, and had just bought a new car that had cost quite a bit of money according to Vernon Dursley's boasts.

He asked Lestrade if he didn't think it was suspicious that the boy always kept just far enough away from his uncle's reach, almost subconsciously. As if he had been conditioned for years to stay out of the range of Dursley's fists.

Lestrade had listened patiently, and looked like he wanted to believe him (at least in that Lestrade was better than the DIs in his previous home in London, the ones who wouldn't listen to him when he insisted that little Carl Powers had been murdered. Lestrade listened to him and heeded his advice ever since he had helped solve that easy little robbery case) but in the end, he had sighed and told Sherlock he couldn't start arresting people because of torn shirts and vague suspicions. He asked Sherlock if he knew how many times the police was called because a neighbor heard a child screaming and thought he was being abused and it turned out that the kid was just throwing a temper tantrum. The DI told Sherlock that if he could convince the Potter boy to complain, or if he witnessed Potter being harmed, then he would be able to do something about it.

Sherlock had scowled and stormed off, mumbling about stupidity and incompetence.

What Sherlock hadn't told Lestrade was that he suspected that Potter was hiding a secret that was far bigger than just being abused, which was the reason that when he finally saw Dursley harming Potter with his own eyes a couple days later, he didn't go straight to Lestrade, but instead kept it to himself.

From the very start he had suspected that there was something more to the whole situation than just a normal case of abuse. For one thing, not only was Potter scared of the Durselys, the Dursleys we afraid of Potter in return. It sounded funny that the Dursleys were scared of Potter, considering how they treated him, but it was almost like they treated him that way so that he would be too scared of them to do something to them in return. Sherlock saw how they always watched Potter out of the corner of their eyes, flinching whenever he made a sudden movement.

Another strange thing was the owls that were constantly flying in and out of Potter's window. He had absolutely no idea what the meaning of that could be, which was strange because he was usually very good at figuring out the meaning behind strange situations. The way he saw it, every action in the world led to a reaction, and every reaction had an action that led to it. If something seemed strange or impossible, it was only because you didn't know what caused that thing to happen. So there was a perfectly reasonable explanation behind the owls, Sherlock just had to figure it out.

So far, Sherlock's theory was that Potter was part of a secret group. A dangerous one if the way the Dursleys watched him was any indication. It wasn't only the owls and the way the Dursleys acted around Potter that led him to this conclusion, it was also the way Potter talked and acted- as if he weren't really a part of this world, as if he came from somewhere different.

This was confirmed to him the day he had witnessed Potter being harmed by this uncle. "Your lot" Vernon had said, "Your lot don't get on our news".

As for the nature of the secret group, Sherlock had a suspicion, but it was such a ridiculous one that he didn't even acknowledge it in his own mind. It was preposterous to think that there were people that could do ma-. Never mind. He wasn't thinking about that ridiculous theory.

And yet, the noise that Sherlock had heard definitely hadn't been a car backfiring. The noise had startled Sherlock who had been studying the earth in his back yard and comparing it to the earth in the park down the road. When he saw the the commotion involved Potter, Sherlock snuck into the Dursleys' garden and crouched behind a bush, observing the confrontatin, hoping it would shed some light on the mystery that was Potter. But far from explaining things to him, the encounter just left Sherlock with even more questions than before. Sherlock was observant enough to see that no car on the street had backfired, and he had studied the sounds of a gunshot enough to know that the sound wasn't of a gun being fired either.

The Dursleys had seemed to think that Potter had made the noise, and while Potter had insisted that he hadn't, he didn't seem to think it was a stupid assumption on the Dursleys' part. When Vernon had accused him of making the noise, he should have retorted that Vernon was obviously being stupid for suspecting him of making the noise when it couldn't possibly have been him. After all, the kid hadn't been holding anything in his hands that could have made such a sound, and yet Potter didn't think it was strange that his relatives were accusing him of making a sound he couldn't possibly have made.

And that stick that he had pulled out of the pocket of his jeans, holding it like it was a weapon, it looked disturbingly like a magic wa-. No. He wasn't thinking about that absurd theory.

Still, Vernon Dursley had started choking Potter, when he suddenly let go as if electrified, but Potter had not touched him. No, no, no, no, no! He refused to consider something that was absolutely impossible.

And yet, that was the only possible explanation for all the bizarre things he had been noticing ever since Potter had come back from his supposed school. And it fit perfectly- why the Dursleys who were so obsessed with being normal, were so scared of anyone looking at him too closely, how they were scared of him despite the way they treated him.

But magic? Impossible!

The mystery was enough to drive Sherlock mad, which was the reason he hadn't told Lestrade that he had seen Potter's uncle strangling him, even though that would have proved that he had been right (And there was nothing Sherlock liked better than proving that he was right). If Potter was removed from the Dursley's care, he could be taken to a foster home where Sherlock would never see him again! And that would be unacceptable- Potter couldn't leave until Sherlock had unraveled the mystery that surrounded him.

Sherlock knew it wasn't right to let Potter stay in an abusive environment when he could get him out of it, and despite the fact that he wasn't a very compassionate person, he still hated the fact that a kid, only two years younger than himself, was being treated like a prisoner in his own home. So he had come up with a plan. A brilliant plan (as all of his plans were). A plan that would allow him to keep Potter where he could observe him and still get him away from his disgusting family.

Sherlock had deduced that the Dursleys were going out tonight when he had seen Vernon enter the house carrying a bag from a place that rented out tuxedos. Tonight, the house next door to his would be empty save for Potter who would probably be locked in his room.

Sherlock could easily break into number four. Once he was there, he would pick the lock to Potter's room, and introduce himself. He would explain how he had deduced that Potter wasn't being treated right by his relatives, how the police wouldn't do anything, and offer Potter the opportunity to move in with him to hide from his relatives.

Sherlock was a great actor, and could easily play the part of the horrified and sympathetic seventeen-year-old neighbor (He would even be partially sincere) and Potter would be delighted to get away from his horrid relatives. He would move in to Sherlock's house where he would be safe from his awful family, and nice and close to Sherlock, so that Sherlock would finally be able to solve the mystery that Potter presented.

It was a perfect plan, the only part he was worried about was convincing Potter to leave his relatives and move in with him. It made perfect sense to Sherlock that Potter should leave his family and come with Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't a normal person, and he wasn't sure if a normal person would want to go along with the plan. Maybe it broke some stupid social convention that Sherlock had never bothered learning?

No, he reassured himself, Potter would be happy to leave the awful people who lock him in his room and move in with his nice, sympathetic neighbor, the plan was foolproof!

And then, when Sherlock solved the mystery that surrounded Potter, he would turn Dursley in to the police and let them deal with Potter and his family. And then everyone would be happy (except for Dursley who deserved to suffer anyways), it would all turn out perfectly!

At least, that's what he thought...


	2. Chapter 1

Harry lay on his back in bed feeling rather content. Yes, his situation was bloody awful right now, what with the upcoming trial at the ministry, and his the silence of his friends, but at least he felt like he had done something productive rather than just sitting in his room wallowing in misery. He was doing something to help himself, and it felt really good. Plus, the Dursleys were gone for the night, which was always a good thing, off to some stupid garden competition.

He refused to brood or sulk or contemplate the reasons his life sucked (if he started, he'd never finish). Instead, he lay in bed enjoying the silence that the departure of the Dursleys had brought.

A sudden crash had him sitting upright in bed, reaching for his wand. He listened for more noises, but after the initial crash that had startled him everything became quiet again. Still, Harry did not lie back down. If a human had caused that noise that meant there could be burglars in the house. It could also mean something more sinister, but Harry tried not to think of that.

He kept his wand held in his hand, and crept silently to the corner of his room, where he'd be able to spot anyone who came in before they could see him. A moment later he was glad he had done so; there was a rustling sound from the doorknob, as if someone was picking the lock. A second later a click sounded and the door swung open.

Harry leapt in front of the intruder, wand held aloft, and stopped abruptly in surprise.

He knew the person standing at the door, and it wasn't a burglar or a death eater- it was the new kid whose family had moved into number two, Privet Drive. The previous owner had gotten remarried and moved in with her husband, and the new tenants were a mother, and a boy around Harry's age. Apparently the boy's father was dead, and the second son in the family lived on his own in London.

Harry had heard Petunia gossiping about the new kid with Uncle Vernon. Apparently, he and his mother had moved into number two only a couple of weeks before Harry had arrived for the summer. He was around seventeen years old, and, according to Aunt Petunia, completely insane.

Aunt Petunia had taken to telling anyone who would listen about how Mrs. Number Three had heard the boy complaining to his mother that Little Whinging was boring because there were no serial killers there. Her newest story was that the kid liked to take dead animals home and disect them.

Since Petunia had been telling all the neighbors false stories about Harry for years, Harry knew that her stories should probably taken with a grain of salt.. In fact, Harry liked the kid (Sheldon, was it?) on principle, simply because Vernon and Petunia disapproved of him.

Right now though, Harry's feeling for the kid (no, not Sheldon, it was a really weird name) were anything but friendly. The boy had really given him a scare, and even though Harry didn't think he posed much of a threat he still didn't like the audacity of the boy who had broken into his house.

Harry had turned on the light in his room, and was preparing to tear the kid a new one, when he actually saw the boy's face, and in his surprise, forgot to be angry. Harry had expected the stranger to look scared, guilty or apologetic- he _had_ just been caught braking in to a stranger's home after all, but the boy didn't look at all uncomfortable with the fact that he had been caught in the act. In fact, the boy was ignoring Harry completely; he was staring intently at the floor.

The floor that, Harry belatedly realized, had his schoolbooks thrown all over it. Schoolbooks with titles like 'A History of Magic' and 'The Standard Book of Spells (grade four)'. One of the books, ('Break with Banshees') even had a moving picture on it. Lockhart was winking and waving stupidly from his picture at the muggle boy. Idiot. Couldn't he tell that the boy was a muggle?

This was bad, Harry knew. Muggles weren't supposed to witness magic, it went against the statue of secrecy.

He turned back to the boy, trying desperately to think of an excuse that would explain the magic books, and was once again surprised by what he saw. He had been expecting the boy to look shocked and confused. Instead, he saw that the kid had started pacing around in circles madly muttering to himself. Harry stared at him in shock for a second. Maybe he really was crazy? He tried to listen to what the kid was muttering.

"'…went by the technique: if there's no other explanation, then the only one left must be the correct one no matter how unlikely it is. Magic is the only explanation-the wand he is holding, and his spell books are proof that he can perform magic. But it's impossible! Everything in the world has to be logical, there has to be an explanation to everything. Magic doesn't have and explanation. There's absolutely no proof that it exists. Unless-"

He suddenly jumped into the air and clapped his hands together looking delighted.

"Magic is thought to be impossible because there is no proof or logical explination for it. But if there was a magical community they would be so much more advanced than us. They could easily hide any evidence that would prove the existance of magic. Which means that it isn't impossible, we simply don't have the information the proves the logic behind it!"

"It's perfect!" he cried out, no longer murmuring, but rather shouting in excitement "Magic would explain everything, and it would all make perfect sense too because the lack of evidence to support the existence of magic doesn't mean there isn't a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, it just means that the magical folk have hidden the evidence. Of course! It's brilliant! It's all so brilliant!"

Harry was seriously alarmed by this point. He had thought he might be able to convince the muggle that he was imagining things. Any normal muggle would convince themselves they were hallucinating, he wouldn't even need to convince them, but the boy was so sure of himself, so confident in his being right, that he didn't think the boy would fall for that. He had to do something though- muggles weren't supposed to know about magic. So Harry made his best attempt at regaining control of the situation:

"Would you mind telling me what the hell you are doing in my house?" he demanded, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. The boy started in surprise, looking as though he had forgotten Harry was there. He probably had, thought Harry.

"I came to rescue you" said the boy (Sherlock! that was the name!), matter-of-factly.

"Rescue me?" repeated Harry blankly.

"Yes, of course, rescue you! It was obvious that you were being mistreated by your relatives. Your baggy clothes, you glasses, your fingernails, they all just screamed abuse. I could have gone to the police, but I didn't want to do that because I knew you were hiding something else and I wanted to find out what it was.

Instead, I was going to offer you to hide from your relatives in my house. That way, you would be in the perfect position for me to observe you and figure out what you were hiding, and you would be away from those disgusting idiots you are related to- a win-win situation. I never expected to solve the mystery so fast though, I've really outdone myself this time!"

Harry stared at him open-mouthed. He was feeling touched that someone had actually noticed he was miserable, that someone had cared. He was feeling panicky because muggles really really weren't supposed to know about magic, but the boy had already figured it all out. And he was feeling just a little bit hopeful- being able to get away from the Dursleys would be a dream come true. The boy might be strange, but he seemed harmless enough and Harry thought his intentions were good. In any case he couldn't be any worse than the Dursleys.

But Sherlock wasn't done talking yet: "It's all obvious of course. At first I discarded the idea of you having magic, even though it would have explained all the strange things that happened around you, because the idea of maic was illogical. But if magic really does have a scientific explanation, it was just covered up by your society in order to keep yourselves secret, that would make the only logical conclusion I can thing of- magic, possible. It anwers all my questions perfectly! You're a wizard, aren't you?"

He looked triumphant and smug for one moment, before his face fell again.

"But that still doesn't make sense, if you can do magic, why on earth would you allow your relatives to treat you the way they do? Surely you can overpower them? I don't understand it, but there's got to be an explination"

"Actually-" began Harry, but the crazy muggle interrupted him before he could continue: "No no no, shut up shut up shut up! Your noise making is bothering me, I need quiet in order to solve this problem."

He started pacing again muttering- "There has to be an explanation, there always is one, in order to find it one must simply find all the puzzle pieces. Why would you allow yourself to be abused, when you could easily harm your relatives doing magic? I'm a certified genius, I could figure this out in 20 seconds if I just had two minutes of quiet without your noisy breathing messing up my thinking process. Would you shut up for a second while I think?"

"Well," said Harry, amused despite himself "I _could_ shut up and let you think until you figure out the anwer, or I could just tell you why I don't use magic against my relatives."

"Oh, was that what you were going to say? Well, go on then, why don't you use magic against them?" the boy demanded, as if he hadn't been the one to interrupt Harry in the first place.

"It's illegal for underage wizards to use magic in non-magical areas, and even if I wasn't underage, it's illegal for wizards to use magic against non-wizards." Said Harry, who was so amused by the stranger's obsessive compulsive pacing and muttering, that he forgot to be mad at him for breaking into his home, or alarmed that he had just broken the statue of secrecy. The boy had figured out about magic on his own, and it wasn't like Harry could obliviate him, so he didn't see the harm in telling the mad muggle more.

"Of course!" crowed said muggle triumphantly "It's all so logical: If wizards have managed to keep themselves a secret for so long, they must have a government of some kind, and laws that prevent you people from exposing yourselves to the world! I've done it, I've solved the mystery!"

He looked so smug that Harry couldn't help but laugh, then, remembering the reason the boy had come in the first place, he sobered up.

"I don't suppose your offer of letting me hide from my relatives at your house is still standing, considering you've already solved the mystery you wanted to figure out?" he asked hopefully. The muggle was weird, but he was also funny, and nice in his own way. But Harry supposed that now the kid had the answer to the mystery, he would have no reason for wanting Harry around his house.

"What?" said the boy, who was still apparently still basking in the glow of having discovered the answer to his puzzle "Of course you're still invited to stay in my house! Just because I've figured out your secret doesn't mean I'm satisfied! Now I need to find out what causes magic, how it works, what rules of nature can and can't it break? What kinds of crimes can be commited with magic? It's a shame you can't do magic while you're here, I would so love to experiment with your magic, see if there's any machinery that can detect it, find out how it works, but I suppose we'll just have to work with theory.

In any case, you still have to come to my house, I'm sure I could figure it all out on my own eventually, but it would be much quicker and easier with your help. So you really must stay with me until I'm satisfied. You do want to stay with me, don't you?"

"Yeah, I want to!" said Harry grinning "My name's Harry, by the way." He held out his hand.

"Sherlock," said the boy shaking Harry's hand and grinning like a loon "Sherlock Holmes."

So while Harry started packing all his things away in preparation for his imminent escape from the Dursleys, he asked Sherlock about himself, and Sherlock introduced himself more thoroughly. He also wasted no time in telling Harry that he had been part of the wizarding world for four years, that he didn't like tomatoes, and that he kept his most prized possesions under the loose floor board in his room. Needless to say, Harry was impressed. Occasionally, Sherlock would stop to ask questions about different objects Harry was putting in his trunk. He practically shivered with delight when Harry showed him his invisibility cloak.

"Just imagine the different crime options there are in the magical world Harry! You could kill a man in the middle of the street and there would be no one to tell the police who it was, you could enchant a knife to strike your victim in the back without getting anywhere near him, therefore leaving no clues!" He seemed so excited that if Harry hadn't known that it was the challenge of the mystery that excited him, he would have thought Sherlock was a serial killer. As it was, he didn't have the heart to tell Sherlock that most wizards were about as imaginative as a sack of bricks, and would probably provide no challenge for him.

Harry might not have known the mad muggle long, but he could already tell that he thrived on solving puzzles and challenging his mind. It made him think that Sherlock probably hated Little Whinging as much as he did- a dull place, where the biggest crime that went on was Dudley's gang vandalizing the park and smoking weed.

When he asked Sherlock what caused Sherlock's family to move to this hellhole he told Harry it was supposedly because his mom got a good job offer that required that they move there. "But I think it's just an excuse, Mummy says that her job here is much better than the one she had in London, but as far as I can tell, the job here is nearly identical to the one she had in London, and pays more or less the same. I think the real reason she moved was because of me. Both of us weren't really happy in London, but I think is was the fact that I had it bad that caused her to decide to move."

When Harry asked what Sherlock's problem with his previous home was, Sherlock said that it was because the police force in the area were idiots, and would never heed his advice. "But that's not why Mummy wanted us to move, she wasn't happy because I was always alone at school and didn't have any friends" The simple, matter-of-fact way he said it, showed that he couldn't care less if he had friends or not.

Harry could understand why Sherlock would have trouble making friends, what with his brilliant mind, striking looks, and intense personality, he probably intimidated most people. Harry, though, had grown up with the loud and menacing Uncle Vernon, and had spent the last four years of his life escaping the evilest dark wizard of the century who was intent on killing him. He wasn't intimidated so easily. He had, in fact, taken a liking to Sherlock. Sherlock was so straightforward: no pretense, no fake politeness, Harry had the feeling that Sherlock wouldn't have judged him at all for writing the letter to Voldemort- he would have understood perfectly.

"The move hasn't been working out the way Mummy thought it would though" continued Sherlock, unaware of Harry's thoughts, "She thought that I'd be able to meet new people if we were in a new place. She really doesn't like how alone I am- she thinks it makes me even more antisocial than I already am, so she had high hopes for the move. So far, it has been a dissapointment- I haven't yet met a single person whose presence I could bear for more than 30 seconds, all the people in my high school are such idiots, and Mummy's getting rather desperate for me to have a friend. It's good for us though, she'll be so happy to see me interacting with someone my age, that she won't even think of asking any awkward questions. She'll be so delighted that she wouldn't risk anything that might scare you off."

Harry was surprised to hear that Sherlock was still in high school- he looked around 17 or 18 years old, which was the right age to be in high school, but Sherlock was obviously a genius. He could have easily skipped a grade or five with his brilliant mind, so why wasn't he in college?

When he voiced his question, Sherlock smirked and explained that his being smart didn't mean he was good at school. Sherlock refused to study subjects that he deemed useless, and almost all the subjects he was required to learn at school fell under that category. He just deleted every single history or literature lesson from his mind the second it was over, and thus failed half his classes. His amazing grades in Chemistry and his high IQ weren't enough to make up for his appalling grades in other subjects.

Harry thought that was rather amusing, but said nothing, not wanting Sherlock to think that he was laughing at his expense. He simply hoisted his trunk up, tucked his wand in the back pocket of his jeans, and gestured Sherlock that he was ready to leave.

They quietly exited the house, locking the doors behind them, and quickly ran to the house next door where they were greeted by an ecstatic Anastasia Holmes, who was so delighted to see that her son had made a friend, once she had been introduced to Harry, that she had welcomed Harry with open arms and a warm hug.

Not five minutes after Harry and Sherlock entered number two, the advanced guard of the Order of the Phoenix apparated into number four, intending to collect Harry, only to find the house empty.

* * *

Tom was lying lazily on his couch, reading a rather dull book on the definition of 'dark arts', when an owl swooped into the room and dropped a letter on his head.

Tom put his book down and picked the letter up feeling bemused. It had been years since he had received a letter. He had no idea who could have sent it. His Death Eaters were the only ones who would have any reason to contact him, and they knew better than to do it by letter.

Letters could be intercepted, and sending one with sensitive information was a serious breach of security. If the letter had indeed been sent by a Death Eater, then someone was going to get crucio'ed tonight. He would let it be a lesson to all death eaters.

Once he had actually opened the letter and read it, his mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped the letter in shock. Potter? Potter had written him? Offered to spy on Dumbeldore for him?

It could be a trap of course, but that didn't seem very likely. If it was a trap designed to feed him false information about Dumbledore, it was a very feeble one considering Tom already had a spy that reported all of Dumbledore's movements to him. Plus, it was _so unlike_ Dumbledore to do something tricky and covert- it just wasn't how he operated.

Dumbledore liked great big confrontations with a large audience, where he could lecture Tom on the power of love and the beauty of forgiveness, beg Tom to change his ways (even though they both knew that it was all for show- Tom would never change), pretend to be disappointed when Tom didn't show the slightest pang of remorse for his actions, and then throw a few spells at him.

Big public shows were Dumbledore's _thing_ , and it was therefore unlikely that he was behind the letter.

This led Tom to believe that the letter was sincere, which was absolutely perfect. Tom had never expected Potter to do something like this (he had always seemed so noble and brave in their confrontations- and writing this letter was such a cowardly sneaky thing to do) but if he could gain Potter's cooperation his victory in the war was practically guarranteed. Potter was the only threat to him, and if Potter and he came to an agreement, he could be unstoppable!

He would be cautious of course, since it could still be a trap, and Tom Marvolo Riddle was no fool, but he could not suppress the triumphant smirk that appeared on his face as he sat down to write Potter a reply.


	3. Chapter 2

The kitchen of number 12, Grimmauld Place was crowded and noisy. The nine members of the advanced guard sent to collect Harry Potter were all shouting, trying to be heard over each other's voices. Sirius Black was shaking Dedalus Diggle demanding to know where his godson was. Molly Weasley was running from one guard member to another, trying to figure out why they hadn't brought Harry with them. Mundungus Fletcher was taking advantage of the pandemonium to sneak some of the Black family silverware into his cloak.

"Silence!" roared Dumbledore. The room quieted at once. The shock of seeing Dumbledore looking anything but calm and jovial seemed to shut everyone up more effectively than anything else could.

"I want one of you to tell me everything that happened from beginning to end." Said Dumbledore gravely, "start at when you reached the house."

Lupin was the first to answer, and everyone settled down as he started speaking. "Well, everything went exactly as expected at the beginning. The Dursleys were gone, as we had planned, and everything seemed perfectly normal until we reached Harry's room."

"No it bloody well did not!" growled Mad-Eye "There was something suspicious about the whole situation from the very start!"

The rest of the advanced guard rolled their eyes. "Alastor," said Lupin patiently "You're reading too much into something very simple. You forget that muggles can't repair windows quickly like we can, so there's really nothing strange about one of the kitchen windows being broken. It was probably caused by some neighborhood kid who accidentally kicked a ball through the window.

"Is that so?" growled Mad-Eye "Think it's a coincidence do you, that the window was broken in the exact place where someone could reach their hand in through the hole and unlatch the window from the inside?"

"Mad-Eye, a Death Eater could have easily unlocked the door with a simple spell, why would he go through all the trouble of climbing in through that window?" this time it was Kingsley who spoke "It makes no sense that it was a Death Eater who broke the window, it was probably just a mistake like Remus said."

"That's what he would have wanted you to think!" exclaimed Mad-Eye triumphantly "Oldest trick in the book, that is!"

The rest of the guard rolled their eyes in exasperation, but before one of them could start arguing with Mad-Eye again, Dumbledore stopped them:

"Never mind that for now, what happened once you reached Harry's room?"

"It was empty." Said Lupin, continuing his narrative "He wasn't there, and what's more, his luggage was gone too."

"Which supports the argument that it wasn't Death Eaters that kidnapped him." put in Tonks "Death Eaters wouldn't have given him time to pack!"

"That's what they want you to think, girlie!" growled Moody again "They want to make it seem like he just ran away so that you won't suspect it was them, you're falling for their tricks!"

Tonks opened her mouth to argue, but Dumbledore interrupted her. "Enough of this, there's one very simple way to find out if Death Eaters are behind the kidnapping."

He turned to Snape "Severus, you were called to the Dark Lord's side very recently. Just an hour ago, in fact. Did Voldemort give any indication during the meeting that he had Harry in his possession?"

Snape shook his head "No, he did not. I would have said something straight away if he had, _I'm_ not incompetent" the way he said 'I'm not incompetent', with the emphasis on the 'I' seemed to indicate that he thought a certain someone else was.

"Well, I think that settles it" said Dumbledore "If Voldemort had captured Harry he would have called all his Death Eater and bragged about it, showed them how he had Harry in his power. His pride always was his downfall, it was what allowed Harry to escape from the graveyard last year.

So, we have established that Harry is not in Voldemort's possession. Can anyone think of any other explanation for his mysterious dissapearence?"

"Maybe his relatives took him with them to the suburban lawn competition?" suggested Hestia Jones.

"With his trunk?" asked Lupin skeptically.

Hestia blushed and fell silent.

"Then the only option I can think of is that Harry ran away from home" said Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I don't think that's what happened, Kingsley." Said Dumbledore thoughtfully "Both Sirius and Arthur told him to stay and Number Four, and Harry is an obedient boy;" Snape snorted at this, but Dumbledore ignored him. "If he was told not to leave his house, then I have full trust in him that he didn't run away unless he felt he absolutely had to."

"So what do you think happened, Albus?" asked Emmeline Vance softly.

"My dear Emmeline, I must admit that I am at loss. I think at this point, the best course of action would be to ask Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to write Harry letters asking him where he is. That should at least give us some idea as to whether or not he left by choice, and if he's safe. Arthur, you speak to the children in the morning."

Arthur nodded.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to argue, but Dumbledore interrupted him:

"Sirius, I know this is frustrating for you, and you must be worried, but there really is nothing else we can do for Harry at the moment. You would do well to try and worry as little as possible unless it turns out there is a problem. Good night, everyone."

They all murmured good night, and slowly departed one by one.

One floor up, Fred George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked up from the extendable ear they were leaning over looking shocked.

* * *

Harry was pissed. He knew that Ron and Hermione were just following Dumbledore's orders, but it hurt that the first time they sent him a letter since the dementor incident wasn't to comfort him or give him any advice; it was to find out where he was. On Dumbledore's orders.

It was now the second day since Harry had moved into Sherlock's house, and Harry had woken in a really good mood until he had gotten the letters from them. At first, when he had spotted Hedwig and Errol flying towards him through the window, he had felt happy to hear from his friends. That only lasted until he opened the letters and discovered that all they wanted from him was to know where he was.

Well, guess what! He thought irritably, as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he wasn't going to tell them where he was! They only wanted to speak to him to find out if he was safe? Well, it was too late! Sherlock didn't even know him, and he had noticed how miserable Harry was and offered help. True, he had an ulterior motive, but he had noticed how bad off Harry had it, when his friends of four years hadn't, because said friends hadn't even bothered to write to him.

He knew it wasn't really Ron and Hermione's fault, that they were only writing what Dumbledore told them to, but he wished that they could just consider his feelings for once over Dumbledore's orders.

At least he had Sherlock as a friend now, thought Harry, Sherlock might be unconventional, but he was fun to be around, and he had helped Harry too. Sherlock was-

Sherlock was a dead man. Harry stared at the bathroom mirror in shock looking at the worst haircut he had ever had including the disaster of Aunt Petunia and the kitchen scissors.

All the front of Harry's hair was missing- his bangs and half the hair on the front of his scalp. It was like someone had tried to cut his hair while he was sleeping, and since he had been lying on his back had just cut off all the hair they could reach without waking Harry. And Harry had a very good suspicion as to who that someone was.

"SHERLOCK!" he bellowed "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY HAIR?"

He got no answer. He sighed, of course not.

When Harry stormed into Sherlock's room, he found him bent over a microscope scribbling something in a notebook.

"What did you do to my hair, Sherlock?" demanded Harry "And don't try to deny it was you, because it sure as hell wasn't me or your mom!"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope. "Of course it was me Harry, don't be ridiculous, why on earth would my mother want to cut your hair?"

"Why one earth did YOU cut my hair?" retorted Harry angrily.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, Harry, you know it'll grow back again overnight, you told me yourself how it always does that. So I really don't see how it matters."

"It matters because now I have to walk around all day looking like an utter idiot. Anyways, that's not the point, the point is- you ask permission before you sneak into a person's room in the middle of the night and cut off half their hair. What do you need my hair for anyways?"

"Don't be a baby Harry, it'll all grow back in less than 24 hours. As for what I need the hair for- I needed your DNA. You told me yesterday that most magical parents have magical children, and that it's extremely rare for a witch or wizard parent to have a non-magical kid. That means magic is probably genetic, I needed you hair to be able to look at your DNA."

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again with a sigh. There was no arguing with Sherlock, he honestly hadn't realized what he had done wrong. Instead, he decided to ask Sherlock what he had found.

"So, did you find out if magic is genetic?" he asked, mildly interested.

"Don't be silly, Harry, I don't have the necessary equipment here to be able to study that sort of thing. The kind of machinery that's used to research DNA isn't just something you can go to the store and buy."

Harry felt embarrassed, but also a bit annoyed. It wasn't his fault he didn't know any of these things! They never taught any of that in the wizarding world. "How are you going to find out if magic is genetic if you don't have the right equipment to check?" he asked irritably. If Sherlock had to cut his hair, he didn't want it to be for nothing.

"We'll probably have to break into a university or research lab in order to access the necessary equipment. Shouldn't be too complicated, but we aren't doing that today. I'll need your assistance in breaking in, and you can't help me looking like that-" he indicated Harry's hair "You look ridiculous, it'll draw attention. For now, there are some other experiments I can think of doing right here at home. Can I borrow some acromantula venom from your potion's kit?"

Harry sighed tiredly. He was really starting to regret telling Sherlock all about the wizarding world yesterday. It had seemed like a harmless thing to do at the time. After all, if Sherlock already knew about magic, did it matter how much he knew? The statue of secrecy was broken anyways, so there was no point in not telling Sherlock what he wanted to know.

Harry had told him everything- from his accidental magic at the Dursleys, to getting his Hogwarts letter, to the Triwizard Tournament last year. Sherlock had almost moaned with envy when he heard about the adventures of the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets.

"You're so lucky Harry. Back in London there was this murder that happened in the house down the street, and I managed to get there and take a look before the police mucked up all the evidence. I managed to figure out who the murderer was right away, of coures.

When I proved it was him to the police, they were going to go ambush him in his hideout. I wanted to go with them, and I think it was my right considering I was the one who figured out who he was and where he was hiding, but they wouldn't let me come along. And they never let me into a crime scene again, even though I had proved to them that I was better than any of them at solving crimes.

But you- not only are you allowed to investigate the mystery and chase after the culprit, it's actually expected of you. You would have absolutely no trouble in getting into a crime scene, the magical police force (they're called aurors, right?) would probably expect you to come help them chase after Voldemort. What a challenge!

I'm so jealous. I wish I had an archenemy- the closest thing I've got to one is Mycroft, and he doesn't really count."

"Well, you're welcome to take my place" Harry had grumbled "I know you hate boredom and would do anything for a thrill, but I could really use boredom every once in a while. I'm so tired of always having to worry about whether I or anyone around me is going to die soon.

But it's all going to be different from now on anyways- by the time I start school, I'll have reached an agreement with Voldemort, hopefully, and finally be able to spend a school year worrying about homework and not about when I'm going to die."

"Well if **I** had an archenemy" declared Sherlock " **I** would never make a truce with him. You have a gift Harry- in a world full of boredom and predictability you were given a once in a generation lifetime of adventure and challenge, and you're just throwing it away! And for what? So you can be bored!

Well, I suppose someone with your meager intellect would find enough challenge in his day to day school work that he wouldn't need a murderous enemy to break his boredom, so it's okay for you. Still, having an archenemy and just throwing it away like that!"

Harry had been unsure if he should be amused by the longing in Sherlock's voice, or be insulted by the 'meager intellect' comment. Finally he decided that since Sherlock was so arrogant he would probably call even Hermione an idiot, he shouldn't be too insulted.

He sniggered at Sherlock instead "That all sounds very nice Sherlock, right up until the moment where your archenemy overpowers you and you die, then it's a bit of a letdown."

Sherlock considered that for a moment "You're right. You're no match for Voldemort; he'd beat you for sure. Maybe it's better if you leave the whole having a deadly enemy thing to me. You're not built for that sort of thing, and I really don't want you to die."

"You don't?" asked Harry, feeling touched. He knew that while Sherlock was a good guy, he didn't experience emotions the way other people did. He hadn't known for sure that Sherlock cared what would happen to him one way or the other until now.

"Of course I don't want you to die, you're my friend!" exclaimed Sherlock "At least, I think you are- I've never had a friend before. Am I your friend?"

Harry chuckled and nodded.

His friendship with Sherlock was very different from his friendship with Ron and Hermione, and that was really the only thing he had to compare it to, but in some ways he was just as close to Sherlock as he was to them. Maybe even more so because Sherlock and Harry's personalities were so compatible- Harry felt that he could be himself around Sherlock in a way he never could be around his other friends.

At least, that's what he had been thinking at the time. Remembering the way his hair looked in the mirror, he scolded himself for getting attached to the bastard so quickly. If only he hadn't taken a liking to the madman, his hair would be its normal messy self right now, and he wouldn't be planning a break-in to a research lab in the near future.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts to find that Sherlock had been talking about the experiments he was planning to conduct this whole time, apparently not noticing that Harry wasn't listening. Harry tried to understand what Sherlock was talking about, but he was using too many long and complicated words, and Harry had absolutely no idea what he was saying.

"You know, I never learned anything past fourth-grade biology" he commented "So I have no clue what you're talking about. I barely understood what you said about DNA."

Sherlock stopped talking for a second and looked at him "That's okay, I don't expect you to understand, talking out loud just helps my thinking process. Before you came along I would talk to him." he pointed at the wall, where a smiley face was drawn in yellow marking pen. Then he carried right on talking about his experiment.

Harry shook his head in bemusement and turned to go downstairs and get himself some breakfast, when a loud pop startled him, and caused Sherlock to stop talking.

A house-elf was standing on Sherlock's bed looking around in confusion. She spotted Harry and asked "Harry Potter Sir? Yorry has a letter to give to yous from the Dark Lord, sir."

She (Harry was pretty sure it was a female but with elves it was hard to tell) held out a short hand to give Harry a roll of parchment. Harry was just about to take it, when the elf jumped back in shock looking startled- Sherlock had just leapt in front of her.

"Fascinating!" said Sherlock, looking the elf up and down. Harry rolled his eyes and took the parchment from the elf, who was still eyeing Sherlock warily.

"So you're a house-elf?" asked Sherlock "Harry's told me about your kind. Oh, how I would love to dissect your brain. My theory is that your nucleus accumbens is somehow wired to trigger a reward response whenever you obey orders. After you die, could I have your body? It would be the equivalent of donating your body to science, and there's so much research I want to do about your species. But even before you die, there are some experiments we could do. I can very easily break into a hospital, and I would love to give you an MRI, do you have any other duties you need to do, or are you free at the moment? If you are, we could go to the hospital right now! And while we were there we could also-"

Harry stopped listening to Sherlock at this point, and instead unrolled the piece of parchment, and read what it said there:

_Potter,_

_First of all let me commend you for coming to the obvious realization that you cannot beat me. You_ would _do well to keep on my good side._

_Other than that, you are an utter idiot. You don't send information as sensitive as that which you wrote to me with an owl. It's ridiculously easy to intercept an owl and read the letter it carries. In fact, I'm very surprised it hasn't happened to you yet. As you can see, I sent my letter to you with my house-elf, much safer. Considering you don't own an elf, I have charmed this parchment with the Protean Charm. Anything you write on this parchment appears on a similar piece of parchment in my possession, and vice versa. When we run out of room on this parchment, I shall send my elf to you again with another one._

_As for the reason I want to kill you- there was a prophecy made, some 3 months before you were born, that went as follows:_

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal-'_

_There is more to the prophecy, but my spy, who was listening in on the conversasion was caught at that point, and couldn't hear the rest. I tried to find out how it ended, but wasn't able to. As you can guess the prophecy spoke of you- you were born at the end of July and your parents had defied me three times. I didn't know what the rest of the prophecy said, but I figured the best course of action would be to kill you just in case. It is possible, however,that the continuation of the prophecy would have stated you would be of some use to me. I wasn't taking any chances as long as I didn't know for sure how it ended, but with your cooperation we could find out what it says. If what it says is favorable to me; I will abandon my quest to kill you. Are you willing to help me retrieve the complete prophecy?_

_It would do you well to remember that if you decide not to cooperate, I will continue to try my hardest to kill you. And I am the most powerful wizard in the world, I could crush you like a cockroach. Keep that in mind before you make your decision._

_Regards,_

_Lord Voldemort._

Harry looked up from the letter, stunned, and turned show it to Sherlock, anxious for his advice.

When he turned to face Sherlock, he saw a sight that really shouldn't have surprised him. Sherlock was staring helplessly at Yorry, who was bawling her eyes out, great heavy tears splashing from her eyes and staining her pillowcase.

"What happened?" he asked Sherlock, suspecting the answer already.

"I don't know!" answered Sherlock "I was just telling her about what kind of experiments I could do with her body if she decided to donate it to me after death, and she just started crying. Do you think it was something I said?"

Harry rolled his eyes and crouched down to face the sobbing elf. "Yorry, I'm very sorry for anything Sherlock said to you. You don't have to do what he says, don't worry."

"Y-Y-Yorry doesn't want t-t-to have hers body dissected for science experimentses when she dies!" bawled the elf "Y-Y-Yorry wants to have hers head chopped off and hung next to her ancestors! Yorry is a good elf, and s-s-she w-w-wantses a place on the family wall!"

"Err… okay," said Harry hesitantly "You can have your head chopped off once you die, Yorry, you don't have to listen to Sherlock. In fact, if you die, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that your head is hung next to your ancestors. Is that okay?"

"Oh, thank you Mister Potter! Mister Potter is a very great wizard indeed! So generous! So kind!" cried Yorry, throwing her arms around Harry.

Harry hesitantly patted her on the back. "Okay, umm… Thanks. You've done your job, so why don't you just go back home to your master, and tell him I have the letter."

"Yes, Master Harry sir, I will Master Harry sir!" and with that, she popped away and was gone.

Sherlock stared at the place Yorry had vanished from with a grimace on his face. "You know, I was thinking of acquiring an elf in the future, it could be so useful, having one around. But if owning an elf involves dealing with _that_ kind of thing all the time, I think I'll pass."

Harry laughed.

* * *

Tom was pacing nervously up and down his study. He had given his elf the letter to give to Potter 10 minutes ago, and she still wasn't back yet. She was supposed to just deliver the letter and then pop straight back to him to report what she saw. And he knew it didn't take her that long to find Potter- house-elf magic was very powerful.

He needed to know where Potter was. If he was with the Order of the Phoenix it was much more likely that the letter was a planned trap. Even if he wasn't, Tom would still proceed cautiously of course, he wasn't stupid. But knowing whether or not Potter was with the Order would give him a clearer idea of the situation.

Where was that blasted elf?

With a pop, aforementioned blasted elf appeared in his study. Tom looked down at her in surprise. She was breathing quickly as if she were on the verge of a panic attack, and there were dried tears all over her face.

"What's wrong, Yorry?" asked Tom, not with compassion, but rather curiosity "Did Potter try to capture you or hurt you?"

"Oh no, Master Dark Lord Sir! Harry Potter didn'ts try to hurt Yorry sir, Harry Potter sir is a kind and noble wizard!" Tom rolled his eyes "Master Harry was kind to Yorry sir! He was good and thoughtful!"

"Yes, I get it" growled Tom "But if the sun shines out of Potter's ass, what went wrong?"

"It's Harry Potter's friend sir" gulped Yorry "Harry Potter is kind, but his friend sir- Harry Potter's friend is **EVIL** ".

* * *


	4. Chapter 3

Sherlock reread the letter that Voldemort had sent Harry one more time. He smirked triumphantly as he read the paragraph explaining Voldemort's reasons for coming after Harry in the first place. There was so much he had been able to deduce about Voldemort's motives and history from that simple paragraph.

Harry, of course, had taken the letter at face value and had read nothing more in the letter other than what it said. Sherlock had known he would. In a different person, Sherlock would have found the naivety frustrating, but surprisingly, Harry's complete cluelessness didn't bother him at all.

Harry was fun, and accepting, and he cared about Sherlock. In the short time they had known each other, Sherlock and Harry had formed a tight companionship which stemmed from the fact that their personalities just meshed. So it was okay if Harry was being oblivious or naïve, because he had Sherlock to give him advice and explain to him what was going on.

Sherlock cherished the role he held in Harry's life- someone to help and guide him. It was a way for him to repay Harry for the friendship and acceptance Harry had gifted him with ever since the very first night he had known him.

Still, just because Sherlock forgave Harry his cluelessness, didn't mean he had to make Harry's life easy. "I'm not telling you what I've deduced; try figuring it out on your own for once!"

"Why should I?" demanded Harry "if you already know and can tell me?"

"Because it's more fun for me this way" replied Sherlock "Come on, Harry, think of it as a challenge."

Harry huffed. Maybe he didn't enjoy challenges, how perplexing.

"I'll give you a hint." said Sherlock "Start from the fact that Voldemort's decision to come after you and your parents was completely irrational."

"No it wasn't!" said Harry "Voldemort says right here why he did it, and it sounds perfectly rational to me. If I knew someone had the power to destroy me, even if I didn't know if he would or not, I'd try to kill him just in case. It makes perfect sense."

Sherlock wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration, but settled for rolling his eyes. "It is not logical! What if the continuation of the prophecy was- 'but the boy will only vanquish the Dark Lord, if the Dark Lord kills his family, otherwise, the boy will help the Dark Lord win in the war' he had no way of knowing if the prophecy might have ended that way, it was a stupid move!"

"Big deal!" said Harry irritably "I still don't think that the fact that he acted stupidly is in any way significant. 90 percent of the wizards in the world have never heard of common sense, so Voldemort acting stupidly wouldn't surprise me at all."

Sherlock sneered in disgust, the lack of logic that plagued so many wizards (at least according to Harry's stories) was a source of great disappointment to him. If there was such a thing as magic, why did it have to be wasted on such complete morons?

Sherlock knew though, that the Dark Lord wasn't a complete moron. "Harry, that may be true of most wizards in the magical world, but you don't become the greatest Dark Lord of the century by being stupid and illogical. Voldemort couldn't have risen as far as he had, or become as famous as he had, by blundering about the way most wizards do. No, the Dark Lord isn't an idiot.

"Anyways, according to Voldemort the prophecy was made a couple months before you were born. He only attacked you when you were a year old, why the wait?

"No, Voldemort's excuse for coming after you is meant to cover something else up. Surely you can figure out what?"

"No, I can't!" said Harry stubbornly. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to stay in the dark. If you don't figure it out in a week's time I'll tell you. For now, just write him saying you agree to help him in finding out how the prophecy ends. Now, pass me that vial labeled 'arsenic', would you?"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Lord Voldemort, I am willing to help you find out how the prophecy ends. What do I have to do?_

He had barely finished writing, when an answer started scribbling itself on the parchement:

_Potter,_

_There is a copy of the prophecy hidden in the ministry of magic. Only the people of whom the prophecy speaks are able to retrieve it, but there are wards in that area that would cause an alarm should I enter the building. Therefore you must retrieve the prophecy. On the day of your hearing at the ministry, Lucius Malfoy will intercept you and find an excuse to get you alone. You will follow him to the room where the copy of the prophecy is kept. You will then take the prophecy and give it to my house-elf who will bring it to me. I will then share what the prophecy says with you through this parchment._

"How did he know I have a hearing at the ministry?" demanded Harry.

"He probably has many Death Eaters who work for the ministry. You yourself told me about the animal executioner Macnair, and there are probably more. Not to mention Lucius Malfoy with direct connections to the Minister. Here, let me see the letter."

Harry handed it to him.

"No, no! That's no good!" declared Sherlock, once he was done reading the letter "What if the prophecy says you might kill him or something? He would listen to the prophecy, then lie to you about what it says, so you'll think he doesn't want to kill you anymore, and then, once you're off your guard, he'll kill you! You have to demand to be present while he listens to the prophecy!"

Harry turned to the parchment and wrote:

 _What if the prophecy says I might kill you or something? You would listen to the prophecy, then lie to me about what it says, so I'll think you don't want to kill me anymore, and then, once I'm off my guard, you'll kill me! I want to be there when you listen to the prophecy. That's the only way it's fair_. After a moment of thought he added: _And, I want my friend to be present there while I hear the prophecy as well._

The fact that he would have walked right into Voldemort's trap without Sherlock, was proof that Harry needed his advice. Anyways, Sherlock would love the chance to witness some magic, he hadn't been able to yet, because of Harry's status as an underage wizard. He could take Harry's invisibility cloak and come with him.

Sherlock read Harry's response over his shoulder and nodded in satisfaction. "Well, that takes care of that" sighed Harry "Now I just need to figure out how to get to the hearing."

_Ron and Hermione,_

_First of all, I'm safe. You don't need to worry._

_Second of all, I'm safe. That means I have no reason to leave the place where I am now. I am really very happy here, and have no intention of leaving till school starts up again. I won't say anymore than this, because I don't want you to figure out where I am- I don't trust you to keep my whereabouts from Professor Dumbledore. I know he's involved in this somehow, because the only way you'd know that I'm no longer at my relatives' house is because he still has someone spying on number four. I'm guessing once the guard realized I wasn't home anymore, he told Dumbledore who asked you to write to me. Honestly I'm pretty mad at you, but I don't want to get into that in a letter._

_Despite the fact that I'm happy where I am, and don't want any of Dumbledore's little spies to find me, I do need assistance in getting to the my hearing on August 12th. I know either your dad or Dumbledore would be willing to help me get there, but since I don't want them to know where I am, just tell them I'll meet them in front of number four, Privet Drive, at 7am the morning of the hearing._

_Even though I'm mad at you guys, I still miss you a ton and hope you're doing well. We'll talk when school starts back up._

_Harry._

Harry gave the letter to Hedwig (he thought that if Errol was the one with the letter, it might only reach Ron and Hermione sometime next year) and sent her off after giving her a piece of a sandwich he had made himself. Errol he decided to leave be for another day, because he didn't want to be responsible for yet another loss of a family pet to the Weasley family.

"All done!" he announced to Sherlock as he reentered his room after sending Hedwig off. "Yes, good," said Sherlock distractedly "Say Harry, that house-elf Dobby absolutely adores you, doesn't he? I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping me if you tell him that by doing so he would be doing you a favor."

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Lucius Malfoy strode through the ministry, smirking as he saw wizards getting out of his way hurriedly. Every time he walked through the ministry and saw the crowd parting for him he felt smug and powerful.

He felt doubly smug today, being on a mission from the Dark Lord, a secret mission too. He was the only one out of all the death eaters who was privy to the information that his lord had formed some kind of agreement with Potter.

Lucius strode down the first floor of the ministry to the very last door at the end of the hall. Finally, he reached a door with a plaque on it that read:

Cornelius Fudge

Minister of Magic

He sneered, then adjusted his facial features to convey friendship and respect and opened the door.

Percy Weasley, Fudge's new junior assistant, looked up from the pile of papers on his desk, and started as he recognized Lucius. Lucius could tell that he was torn between the ingrained hatred towards all things Malfoy that he had learned from his parents, and his desire to suck up to someone as important as him.

In the end, Weasley's boot-licking tendencies won out, and he got up to greet Lucius. "Lucius Malfoy! Such an honor to see you, I assume you have an appointment with the minister? Come right in!" Lucius couldn't help the sneer that graced his face this time, but quickly schooled his features as he passed Weasley and the other secretary's desks and stood before the polished door that led to the Minister of Magic's office.

He knocked three times, and then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

"Ah, Lucius!" beamed the minister, as he set eyes on him "I got your owl saying you might stop by today. Come in, come in. Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, minister, the question is- what can we do for each other?" said Lucius.

The Minister gestured for him to continue, looking eager.

"We both have a problem, Minister" said Lucius sincerely (at least he hoped it sounded that way) "You- are dealing with a stupid but infulential child who is causing panic and pandemonium in your previously peaceful country. Said child is besmirching my name, claiming me to be a Death Eater and a terrorist. We both want the same thing.

"Harry Potter needs to be silenced, not just for our sakes, but for the sake of the whole wizarding world, which he is throwing into chaos." he continued in a saintly voice. "We have been given an opportunity to accomplish this without even trying- Potter's blatant disregard for the Statue of Secrecy saw to the fact that we don't even need to do anything in order to silence him- he has condemned himself with his arrogance, and his disregard for the rules.

"Still, I am afraid. You know Dumbledore has always favored Potter because of the political edge it gave him to be associated with the Boy-Who-Lived. He will do his best to help acquit Potter, and I am afraid Potter will manage to weasel out of the punishment he deserves once more."

Fudge nodded and looked concerned, exactly as Lucius had known he would.

"You're right Lucius, I was just thinking about that. It would be typical of Dumbledore to allow his precious favorite to escape the penalty he deserves. But what do you propose we do?"

Lucius grinned savagely "Allow me to have a little chat with Potter before the trial, Cornelius. Perhaps I can persuade Potter to admit to being guilty before the hearing even begins. You know how persuasive I can be when I want to."

When he saw that Cornelius looked a bit worried he quickly added "Oh, nothing illegal Cornelius, at least nothing that can be proven. And you must think of the wizarding world, of your citizens whom he is scaring and intimidating as we speak. For the good of the wizarding world I would do anything, Cornelius, help me save it."

Fudge nodded slowly "Of course, Lucius, of course. We must do everything we can for the sake of the citizens. I will arrange for you to have some private time with Potter."

Lucius swelled with triumph, but schooled his expression before Fudge saw. Instead he adopted a look that he hoped said 'well-meaning and caring'.

"You have made the right choice, Cornelius" he announced, and swept out of the room quickly, using powerful strides to get to the elevator lift, and ignoring Weasley's salute to him on his way out.

It was quite convenient how stupid Cornelius was. Lucius could of course put him under the Imperius Curse, but why waste the energy and concentration it took when Fudge catered to his every whim so beautifully on his own?

He apparated out of the ministry, heading straight to the Dark Lord's headquarters, to tell him that he had completed his mission.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five days later, Lucius was walking alongside the Minister as they approached Arthur Weasley, who was leading Harry Potter through the ministry atrium and towards the lifts.

"Well, well, well….. Patronus Potter." he drawled "The Minister here was just telling me what you are on trial for today. Tut tut, flaunting the rules once more are we?" Potter scowled. Arthur Weasley swelled with indignation. "What business is it of yours Lucius?" he demanded.

Lucius smirked "Actually, Weasley, it is very much my business. You see, as a respected member of the Wizengamot, and a personal friend to the minister, it is my privilege to be present at Potter's hearing. Respected ministry wizards get all kinds of privileges Arthur, not that you'd know anything about that."

Arthur Weasley looked torn between anger and dismay. He knew that Lucius could get away with what he was doing- he had the Minister in his back pocket and could do whatever he pleased. He probably thought that Lucius would just pronounce Potter guilty without any sort of trial. It was a stupid thing to worry about, even Lucius didn't have the power to get himself hired as judge. Plus, Lucius had a mission to complete.

"The trial will take place in old courtroom ten. Since you have neither the authority nor the clearance to be present at his hearing, I'll take little Harry there. Come along now, Potter." Weasley, looking distressed, quickly whispered a few words of comfort and encouragement to Harry before helplessly watching as the three of them- the Minister, Lucius and Potter, walked away.

Once they were gone Lucius turned to the Minister and said "Cornelius, would you mind if I had a little chat with Potter here before the hearing. It doesn't start for another half hour after all, and I'm sure Potter and I will have plenty to talk about." As this was part of the plan, the Minister nodded, and walked away without another word.

He looked slightly guilty, but also determined. He probably thought Lucius was going to torture Potter in order to get him to admit he was guilty, how quaint.

Once the minister had left, Lucius turned silently towards the lifts, and Potter followed him. Once they were alone in the lift,Lucius waited for the doors to close before turning to Potter. "I was told you'd be accompanied by a friend."

"He's here" answered Potter "he's just under an invisibility cloak. At least, I think he's here. Oh, I hope he hasn't wandered off!" just as he was starting to look panicked, a low voice emerged from the boy's right- "I'm here." Potter sighed in relief. Lucius sneered (it was his default facial expression).

So, the Order of the Phoenix didn't know that Potter had a friend who was accompanying him. Not Weasley or the mudblood then. Maybe it was someone the Order would disapprove of. A Slytherin, perhaps? Well, it was no concern of his.

"Department of Mysteries" announced a cool female voice, as the lift came to a halt. Lucius exited, and Potter followed him. Now that they were in the silence of the deserted floor, Lucius could hear an extra pair of footsteps echo across the floor.

He pushed the plain black door to the Department of Mysteries open confidently. His lord had arranged that the Department would be empty. That was all he needed to know, it wasn't his place to enquire how and which one of the Unspeakables had arranged it. He knew only his part in the plan.

As Potter and his invisible companion entered after him, the door clanged shut, and the great circular wall started rotating.

"It is safe for your friend to remove the cloak now if he wishes" remarked Lucius as the walls came to a stop.

"Room of Time" he announced.

A door swung open, and Lucius heard Potter follow him. He also heard the whoosh of fabric that indicated that Potter's companion had removed the invisibility cloak.

Lucius looked at the boy curiously to see if he recognized him. No, he did not. No matter.

As they walked through the Time Room, he snagged a time turner from one of the shelves, and handed it to Potter "If your meeting with the Dark Lord lasts longer than half an hour, you are to use this to get to your hearing on time."

Potter took it from Lucius, and gave it to his friend. "Here you go, I know you're dying to get a look at one."

Potter's companion shook his head. "No, you keep it to get back. I would probably destroy the time turner before you had a chance to use it. I stole another one back there that I can examine instead."

Lucius wondered if he should protest about the stolen artifact, then decided that he didn't care enough. He walked through the door at the end of the room, which led to the Hall of Prophecies.

To row 97, down to the very end of the row. Ah, there it was-

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter

"No one but you or the Dark Lord can remove the prophecy from the wall Potter." Potter was looking at the golden ball in awe, Lucius sighed impatiently "Well, what are you waiting for? Take it!"

Potter reached out and grabbed the ball, carefully holding it in his hands.

"Yorry!" called Lucius.

With a crack, the house-elf appeared beside them.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had the chance, Potter's friend cut her off. "Ah! Yorry! We meet again." Yorry shivered "What do you need us to do?" he continued.

"Master Harry Potter and-" her voice wavered for a moment "M-m-master Harry Potter's F-f-friend must both be touching Yorry. Yorry will transport sirs to Dark Lord's headquarters."

She grabbed Harry's hand, and with her other hand, touched Sherlock's hand with one finger, keeping as far away from him as possible.

A crack, and the three vanished.

Slightly curious about what had the elf so scared, Lucius conjured a chair, and waited for the boys to return.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom sat in the extravagant throne at the head of the long table, waiting for his elf to return with Potter and his companion.

The whole throne and long table ensemble was way too posh and extravagant for Tom's tastes, and he much preferred his own house, but there was no way in hell he was taking Potter to his own home. Too risky. Therefore, he had commandeered Lucius Malfoy's sitting room for the meeting with Potter.

A crack sounded and Yorry appeared in the room with Potter and another, bowed to Tom, and vanished with another crack.

Tom looked at Potter's companion curiously, wanting to see what he looked like. When his house-elf had first pronounced Potter's friend to be evil, Tom had been surprised. After all, what would it take for a house-elf who served the Dark Lord to define a person as 'evil'?

Then Tom remembered that elves saw things in a different way than humans did. They didn't concern themselves with politics or wars; they judged their masters according to how well the masters treated them.

Tom disliked the whole concept of elves punishing themselves. How incredibly stupid it was! The elf would punish itself by harming itself somehow, and as a result would be injured. Then, the injury would cause the elf to work slower, and be less competent.

He had seen it with Lucius' elf, who Lucius had made iron his fingers after burning dinner. As a result of his injury the elf was clumsy, had dropped and broken three plates, and burnt a shirt he was ironing.

Therefore, when he was given the elf along with an estate from Walburga Black as a gift, he had told the elf straightaway that he forbade her to punish herself.

Obviously, this had caused the elf to think he was 'good'. And if Potter's friend had in some way acted violently towards the elf, the elf would naturally consider him evil in a way she had never considered her master.

Tom remembered the way Crabbe Senior used to treat his house-elf. He treated all creatures that way- Tom remembered seeing him pulling the wings off a struggling fly once, a stupid grin on his great brutish face.

He imagined Potter's friend to be much the same way: big, hulk-like, grinning stupidly as he dangled Yorry upside-down by one leg and poked her in the eye.

Hmph, he thought Potter had better taste than that, maybe he just kept him around as a bodyguard rather than a friend. Like Lucius did with Crabbe and Goyle.

Which was why he was surprised when he saw what Potter's companion really looked like. He hadn't expected him to be so pretty, with his sharp cheekbones and soft lips he looked nothing like Tom had imagined him.

"My house-elf called you evil." He stated blankly.

Potter rolled his eyes. The other boy- the other boy _preened_.

"Well, that is quite the compliment, even if I don't feel I've earned it that particular time. I can't recall doing anything remotely evil on that occasion. Harry, can you?"

"Talking about wanting to burn her skin wasn't evil?" demanded Harry incredulously. Tom looked at the boy with growing interest.

The boy shrugged "Only after she was dead, I wasn't threatening to torture her or anything."

Shame, thought Tom, that wasn't quite as interesting as wanting to burn her alive, though it was still curious.

Harry rolled his eyes "I'd explain to you what's wrong with that if I thought you'd understand, but as it is I'm giving it up as a lost cause."

He then turned back to Tom. "This is Sherlock" he said, gesturing at his friend "Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Lord Voldemort."

The boy, who was apparently named Sherlock Holmes, looked him up and down.

"You've undergone a ritual to make yourself immortal. You've repeated the ritual multiple times. The ritual normally cause the person who performs it to go crazy, but you thought you found a way around it. It worked partially- most of the time you retain your sanity, but once in a while you become unstable and loose your grip on reality.

"Also, these aren't really your headquarters, despite what your house-elf said, and you haven't eaten breakfast yet, probably too busy preparing for our meeting."

Tom stared at him "How did know? No one could possibly have known that! I've never told a living soul."

It may have been stupid, confirming that what Sherlock had said had been true instead of denying it, but if the boy had some sort of clairvoyant power, then there was really no point in denying anything.

The boy rolled his eyes "I'm not a seer or something, if that's what you're thinking. Everything I just told you I deduced naturally.

What I told you about your ritual to make yourself immortal, was a conclution I reached based on a combination of all the things Harry told me about you. Your words to your Death Eaters in the graveyard where you were resurrected: 'I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.' coupled with the fact you didn't die when the killing curse hit you all those years ago and your hideous looks suggest that you underwent some sort of magical ritual to attain immortality. The ritual obviously takes a lot of power and requires you to sacrifice your human looks. No one would walk around looking like you do if they could help it, the ritual must be really powerful if it can keep you from enchanting yourself to look normal again. Therefore, an obscure and powerful ritual used to attain immortality- or at least keep you from dying when most people would.

"And not just one ritual- you said you had gone farther than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. That suggests that you either preformed the ritual multiple times, or preformed many different rituals. I think the first is more likely- because how many rituals to make yourself immortal can there be? If there were many, there'd be a lot more than just one undead Dark Lord wandering around.

"Now, our question is- if it is possible to avoid death, how come you are the only one who had preformed this ritual? Why aren't there immortal dark lords everywhere? It also seems unlikely that a ritual of such power requires only your looks as a sacrifice. Coupled with your completely illogical action of going after Harry and trying to kill him, this suggests that the ritual made you somehow unstable or insane. On the other hand, you didn't go after Harry straight away, so at the beginning you did realize that it didn't make sense to try and kill him. Your actions at the graveyard- untying Harry and letting him fight you, give the impression you are a crazy megalomaniac who is obsessed with proving his superiority, but your response to Harry's letter shows you have a strategic and political mind. Harry said you were brilliant while you were in school- you would have been aware of the consequences of the ritual, but being the magical genius that you were, you found some kind of loophole or way to get around it. At least you thought you did, but it only worked partially- that's why you still experience bouts of instability and insanity.

"I knew these weren't you headquarters because, from the way you are squirming on the chair you are sitting on, it is obvious that it is uncomfortable. If you were familiar with this room, you would have picked a different chair, or cast a cushioning charm. So you haven't been here before, or at least not often enough to know about the chair. Plus, you would be stupid to lead a prophesized enemy of yours straight into your headquarters, and we've already established that you aren't stupid. This place belongs to a follower of yours perhaps? Probably the one who brought us to the prophecy in the first place, since he was already in on the plan.

" As for how I knew you had missed breakfast? The look of yearning you threw towards the granola bar sticking out of Harry's jeans pocket."

Sherlock then pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down on it looking triumphant.

Tom knew he was gaping, and that Dark Lords didn't gape, but he didn't think he could help himself.

"Well, did I get it right?" demanded Sherlock.

Tom sighed "I basically confirmed that you were right when I asked you how you knew, so I don't see that there's any point in denying any of it. You did get one thing wrong though- I'm not stuck looking like this, I can still enchant myself to look normal. I kept this look on purpose because it intimidates my followers and keeps them respectful."

Sherlock sighed "There's always one thing! I always get one thing wrong!"

Harry patted him on the hand consolingly and turned to Voldemort "So, if you only look like that to intimidate your followers, could you please make yourself look normal? Sherlock and I aren't idiots like your Death Eaters, we'd have plenty of healthy respect for you even if you didn't look like something out of a horror movie, I know what you're capable of. I won't start underestimating you just because you look normal, so can you please make yourself look less repulsive? It's ruining my appetite." He explained, opening the wrapper to his granola bar.

Tom shrugged and waved his wand over himself, casting the illusion that made him look like he had when he was sixteen years old. He hated being looked down upon or patronized, which was why he never chose to look anything but monstrous when there were others around- he knew that in their stupidity they would stop respecting him if he didn't look intimidating, regardless of his capabilities.

But it seemed as if Potter would give him the respect he was due even if he didn't act like a maniacal super-villain. So why not look human for a change?

Harry smiled at him, and after a moment's thought broke his granola bar in two and offered Tom one of the pieces.

Tom accepted it gratefully. He was really beginning to hope the prophecy didn't say he had to kill Harry. Both Sherlock and Harry were a refreshing change from most of the idiotic wizards he came across.

Tom hated the fact that he had to act all uptight and scary in public. That he could never be seen joking or even eating for fear of his persona being ruined. He didn't like that he had to act this way, but knew that no-one would accept him as a leader for the dark if he didn't.

And finally, here were some people who had the sense to judge him by his actions and power. They were respecting him for his accomplishments and not because he was terrifying- that was the only way he got his Death Eaters to show him respect. It was nice to have people who seemed to know that just because he got hungry or horny or lazy just like any other human being, didn't mean he was harmless.

It was nice, and Tom sincerely hoped that he could let them live. On that subject-

"I think it's time that we finally listened to the prophecy. Are you ready?"

"Okay," said Harry "How do we do that?" he looked at the golden orb as if searching for some kind of activation button.

Tom snorted. "We break it."

"Break it?" asked Harry.

"Well, the unspeakables have a magical artifact that allows you to listen to the prophecy and then put it back where it came from, unharmed. But I don't own that artifact, and while I could steal one, I happen to know that if a prophecy ball breaks, the prophecy will play itself. It's not the official way of listening, but it's so much easier, and if we want to listen to what the prophecy says again, I have a pensieve we can use. Why go through the trouble of stealing the prophecy activaton device, if breaking it works just as well?"

Harry shrugged "If you say so…" and with that, he raised his arm, and threw the golden orb towards the wall, aiming at the ugly black vase that was standing in the corner.

He missed, but the prophecy ball smashed.

A pearly white ghostlike figure emerged out of the ball and began speaking. Harry gasped, apparently recognizing the person giving the prophecy.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the - Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_


	5. Chapter 4

The second the prophecy finished playing and the hazy white figure vanished, pandemonium broke out in the Malfoy family's previously pristine and elegant dinning room.

Tom jumped up, his wand raised, a curse on his lips only to stop. Harry, who had snapped his fingers and called out "Dobby!" the second the prophecy had finished playing, was now being shielded by said elf along with his friend Sherlock.

"Dobby, get us out of here!" instructed Harry. Tom hurried to Point his wand at Harry again, preparing to curse him, desperate to hit him before he got away, when Sherlock roared "Stop! Dobby, don't take us away yet! You two-" he turned to Harry and Tom "stop fighting for a second, would you?"

Both Tom and Harry paused to stare at Sherlock incredulously. "Are you crazy?" demanded Tom "He could kill me at any second!"

"What he said!" said Harry, nodding emphatically "In case you didn't notice, he's trying very hard to kill me right now, and I'm really no match for him!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Really Harry, I don't mind pointing out the obvious to you every once in a while, since you obviously seem to miss it half the time, but could you try to figure things out on your own for once? And you-" he turned to Tom "I really expected better from you. So much for being rational and thinking things through."

Tom and Harry both opened their mouths in outrage to defend themselves, but Sherlock cut them both off. "There's something very suspicious about that prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives? Haven't you-" he pointed at Tom "survived that killing curse that was thrown back at you all those years ago, and hasn't he-" he pointed at Harry "been alive that whole time?"

"It's a figure of speech" said Tom impatiently "It means neither of us can live with ourselves; neither of us can live peacefully while we know the other survives."

"Really?" asked Sherlock skeptically "Because Harry knew you were alive this past week, but ever since he thought there was a chance that you would be willing to make a truce with him, he has been perfectly at ease with the thought that you survive."

"That's true" admitted Harry "and you've got to admit, you were perfectly fine with the thought I survived ever since you knew I didn't want to fight you anymore, weren't you? Otherwise you would have just killed me as soon as I entered this room."

Sherlock looked at Harry approvingly.

Tom frowned "So how is it possible that the prophecy said what it did? Are you saying it's a fake?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far" replied Sherlock "after all, everything it said about Harry vanquishing you and you marking him as your equal did happen. I think the prophecy is self-fulfilling.

"Think about it- if you had never known about the prophecy, you would never have tried to kill Harry when he was a baby, his mother would never have shielded him, he would have never vanquished you, and you would never have marked him as your equal. And even if in that hypothetical universe Harry would have had the potential inside him to kill you, he never would have, because nobody would ever let a normal teenager fight a Dark Lord. The only reason this prophecy was partially fulfilled was because you took what it said seriously in the first place. If you don't obey the prophecy, it will never be fulfilled."

Tom nodded slowly "What you're saying makes a lot of sense, Sherlock, but I don't think I'm willing to take the chance that what the prophecy says might happen. It's too big a risk, sorry."

"Wait!" cried Sherlock, as both Harry and Tom prepared to raise their wands again "I have a way to ensure that won't happen!"

The two other boys paused, and looked at him hopefully.

"According to Harry there is such thing as a magically binding contract that can force you to adhere to it. That's why Harry had to compete in the Triwizard tournament, because of a contract of that sort with the Goblet of Fire. If both you and Harry signed a contract saying you wouldn't try to kill or harm each other, then you wouldn't have to worry about the prophecy anymore."

Tom inclined his head thoughtfully "A magically binding contract isn't secure enough as far as I am concerned, they're far too easily circumvented. The idea is valid though, how about an Unbreakable Vow?"

Both Harry and Sherlock stared at him blankly.

Tom huffed "An Unbreakable Vow is a vow that if you break, you die. My goodness, don't they teach that at Hogwarts anymore? That school has really gone to the dogs. Not surprising, considering the current headmaster. In any case, we can perform the ceremony now. Sherlock, you can be our binder."

At this point, Harry stared at Sherlock a bit nervously "What does being a binder entail?" he asked hesitantly "Do you need to do magic for it?"

"Ah, I didn't think of that" said Tom "I assumed you were over seventeen Sherlock, but I guess you just look old for your age? Underage magical restrictions still apply?"

"Actually-" began Sherlock indignantly, he seemed to take offense to the fact that Tom assumed he was a wizard. Hadn't he just proved how logical and intelligent he was?

Harry interrupted him though before he could correct Tom. "Umm…. You won't try to kill Sherlock, will you? If you're planning on killing him, this deal is off."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Why would I want to kill him? He's no threat to me. In fact he'd make a great Death Eater" he looked at Sherlock "if you're interested, of course, I could use someone with your brains on my side."

"Actually," said Harry "the reason Sherlock can't perform magic isn't because of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, it's because he's a muggle." He cringed, clearly expecting Tom to try and attack Sherlock or something of the sort.

Instead Tom looked at Harry curiously "You broke the statue of secrecy?"

Harry gaped at him "Well, you're certainly one to be lecturing me on breaking the law!" he cried indignantly.

Tom grinned "I wasn't lecturing you, I was merely curious, you don't seem the type to go around bragging about how you can do magic."

"I didn't!" declared Harry "Sherlock figured it out on his own"

"Ah, I should have known, of course he did!" said Tom staring at Sherlock curiously "Well, I would say that we can just have me be the binder when you do your vows, and you be the binder when I do mine, but I'm not sure a muggle can participate in the Unbreakable Vow ritual, even if it doesn't involve magic. I'll call Lucius and ask him to do it just in case."

"You really don't care that Sherlock's a muggle?" asked Harry incredulously, "I thought the whole reason for this bloody war was because you hated muggles and wanted them all dead!"

Tom snorted "Do you really think I buy all that pureblood propaganda that my servants spout? Anyone with eyes can see that it is absolutely ridiculous. I mean, look at me- I'm the most powerful wizard in the world and I'm a half-blood. So is Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape too. You're also very powerful Harry, you cast a corporeal Patronus at the age of fifteen, and you're also not of pure blood. I'm not stupid enough to think that purebloods are actually superior to other wizards!"

"Then why-" began Harry.

"Why do I act as if I do? Why do all my followers believe that?"

Harry nodded.

"That's very simple, Harry. I wanted to rule the wizarding world. Oh, not be Minister of Magic, a temporary job with heavy responsibilities that wouldn't give me nearly enough power. I wanted to take over Britain and rule it like a king.

I knew I would never get any muggleborns on my side, they usually have the most common sense, and having grown up with muggles and experienced real democracy and freedom, would never trade that up for a dictator. Even if I would have been a very fair and just dictator.

I knew that if I wanted an army to help me take over wizarding Britain, it would have to be mostly comprised of purebloods. And what better way to get the purebloods on my side than start spouting nonsense about how superior they are to everyone else?" he finished triumphantly.

Sherlock was looking at Tom with admiration. Harry stared at him incredulously.

"You're crazy." He told Tom blankly "You're crazy, and you-" he turned to Sherlock "are crazy for not thinking that he's crazy."

They both shrugged unconcernedly. Harry sighed.

"Okay, let's do this unbreakable vow thing. Hey listen" he turned to Tom "can you include my friends Ron, Hermione and Hagrid in your vow not to kill me? I'd ask you to not kill Sherlock too, but knowing him, one day he'll get bored, and try to get you to kill him in order to provide himself with the challenge of escaping you.

So just my other friends. Can you swear not to kill them too?"

Tom thought about it for a few seconds "I'm assuming the friends you just mentioned don't know you're here, right?"

Harry nodded.

"And they still intend to fight me, correct?"

Harry nodded again looking resigned.

"I'll tell you what. I definitely won't make the vow not to kill them, but I'll give you my word to only do it if I think they pose a threat to me. I will only kill them in the course of the war."

"Thanks." Said Harry gratefully, he knew that was more than he could have hoped for considering Voldemort owed him nothing, and could have just killed him to eliminate any risks.

Tom waved his hand, showing it was no big deal, and them summoned Yorry to bring Lucius over.

He waved his wand, changing his features so that he looked monstrous again, and they all sat down to wait.

A minute later, Yorry appeared with the man, bowed to Tom and disappeared again with a crack, but not before smiling shyly at Dobby, who was still standing unsurely before Harry, forgotten.

Dobby turned to Harry "It seems Master Harry does not need Dobby's help anymore, Dobby will maybe get to know Yorry better if that is case. If Master Harry needs Dobby, Master can just call and Dobby will come."

Harry nodded, and Dobby cracked away.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten about your house-elf." remarked Tom "Sneaky move, bringing him with you."

Sherlock looked proud "Did you really think we would enter your headquarters, where you might hear a prophecy saying you should kill us, without an escape plan? There was no way we would have agreed to enter this place if we didn't have a quick way to get out. Well actually, Harry might have" he looked at Harry in exasperation "but I would never. We sent Dobby an owl asking for help the very day we made the arrangements to hear the prophecy."

"For your information I would have had the sense to think of that even if you weren't there to tell me" scowled Harry "it just would have taken me longer to think of it." He finished, somewhat sheepishly.

"Unimportant!" declared Tom, getting impatient "Let's get on with this. Lucius, Potter and I will be making an Unbreakable Vow. We need you to be our binder."

"Of course My Lord." murmured Lucius, looking at Harry with interest "May I ask what the wording of the vow will be?"

Once the wording of the vow was settled, both Tom and Harry knelt on the ground, holding each other's right hand. For a second, both pondered how curious it was that holding the hand of a complete stranger would feel so familiar and comfortable.

Then Lucius touched his wand to the place where Harry and Tom's hands met.

"Will you, Harry Potter swear to never try to kill or injure Lord Voldemort?"

"I will." Responded Harry, as he had been instructed.

A strand of fire shot out of Lucius' wand and encircled their intertwined hands.

"And will you, My Lord, swear to never try to kill or injure Harry Potter, or instruct your Death Eaters to do so?"

"I will" Intoned Tom.

A second circle of flame appeared.

"And will you both," continued Lucius "swear that if the other is in danger, you will do everything within your capabilities to save them?"

"We do." They both whispered, looking into each other's eyes.

Their faces both glowed red for a second as the third flame bound their hands and their lives together in an unbreakable vow.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With that taken care of, Lucius had been sent away, and Harry and Tom settled at the table in the Malfoy Manor dinning room to discuss strategy. Tom and Harry needed to think of a way to avoid fighting each other, without causing anyone to become suspicious.

Once they had the basic outline of a plan, and Harry had been given another roll of parchment with a Protean Charm so they could update each other on different issues of importance, Sherlock and Harry rose, and prepared to leave the house.

Tom called Yorry, and Harry called Dobby. Both appeared standing right next to each other.

"Yorry, we need you to take us back to the Ministry of Magic" said Harry "Dobby, you can go home."

"In a second, Master Harry." Said Dobby in his squeaky voice, and he leaned down to whisper something in Yorry's ear. Yorry blushed.

As the elves were saying their goodbyes, Sherlock turned to Harry. "Umm…. Thanks," he said quietly, looking awkward "for what you said beforehand to Voldemort, about the deal being off if he killed me. I appreciate that."

"It was no problem!" smiled Harry "Thanks for convincing Voldemort to not kill me, even though life would have been much more interesting for you if he still wanted to."

"Oh, well I guess there's really no point in you having an arch-nemesis if you're not going to enjoy it." Muttered Sherlock.

Their eyes met and they grinned.

Tom watched them, and felt a small pang of jealousy.

He saw himself in both those boys.

Sherlock, with his good looks, brilliant mind, and emotionless personality reminded Tom of himself strongly. But unlike Tom, Sherlock had found someone willing to be his friend even if he wasn't the most kind and sensitive person in the world.

He saw himself in Harry, too. A lonely halfblood orphan, separated from his peers, too-large expectations heaped on his shoulders. And yet Harry had found a friend to share his burden and ease his loneliness, something Tom never had.

Why couldn't Tom have a friendship like the one those two shared?

As he looked at them, smiling at each other happily, Tom wondered if perhaps Sherlock and Harry shared a relationship that went further than mere friendship. He disregarded the thought, it didn't really matter he decided.

He turned away, not wanting to see them leave, when he felt a tap on his back.

He turned, and saw Harry holding out him hand to him smiling "I'm really glad we had this meeting, it didn't go the way I thought it would, but it was great. I'm really happy with what we did today." Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement and shook Harry's hand.

Sherlock didn't offer his hand, but instead nodded his head in parting to Tom "It was very nice to meet you, Lord Voldemort, it's a shame you weren't prophesized to destroy me, you would have made a worth opponent."

"I'm honored" said Tom, in amusement "and call me Tom."

Sherlock nodded and took Harry's hand. Harry took Yorry's, and they disappeared with a crack.


	6. Chapter 5

Harry looked up at the many faces staring down at him from their high seats in the courtroom and felt very small. Some of the faces looked stern and judgemental, others merely curious, but they were all looking straight at Harry who was trying his hardest not to fidget.

He took some comfort in the fact that Sherlock was standing right next to him under the invisibility cloak. If there was anyone who could inspire confidence in a person it was Sherlock, with his sharp mind and fearless attitude.

He felt the slightest brush of a hand on his shoulder and sat up straighter.

The hand brushed his shoulder again, stronger this time, when the Minister Fudge stopped talking to the woman next to him, and looked down at Harry, sneering down at him in contempt. Looking up at his smug and condescending face, Harry felt very sure that this hearing would not end well for him.

True, Harry and Sherlock had come up with a defense tactic that should insure Harry victory, but Harry wasn't familiar enough with wizarding law protocol to know if he would actually be able to get away with it. So despite his back-up plan, Harry was worrying.

Tom had told Harry that he probably didn't need to worry about getting expelled since Dumbledore probably considered him much too important to the war effort to discard. And despite his recent dismissal from the Wizengamot, Dumbledore was still very powerful- powerful enough to ensure Harry's acquittal from the trial. Still, thought Harry, being the Minister is a pretty damn powerful position too, and Fudge definitely wanted him gone.

He didn't know what Lucius Malfoy had told Fudge about their short meeting (or what Fudge thought was their short meeting. In reality it had lasted about an hour and a half, but they had used the time-turner) all he knew was that as Malfoy slid into his seat in the stands, he leaned down and whispered something in Fudge's ear, and whatever it was that Malfoy had said caused Fudge to smirk smugly at Harry.

Harry had pretended to ignore him.

There was no ignoring him now, though, as he started talking, looking straight down at Harry. First, he asked a young man at his side if he was ready.

"Yes sir." said an eager and very familiar voice.

Harry started in surprise as he recognized Percy Weasley sitting at the very edge of the front desk holding a quill and some parchment.

Glad to see a familiar face, even if it was the face of his least favorite Weasley, Harry tried to catch Percy's eye.

Percy, though, was looking down at the parchment in his hand determinedly, avoiding Harry's gaze.

Harry's heart sank, he knew Pecry was a snob and a suck up, but the snub still hurt. Harry felt himself deflate, until he felt the firm pressure on his shoulder that told him that Sherlock was still there with him, steady and faithful.

He did have a strong friend and supporter he could count on. Percy could go suck it, Harry always thought he was a prat anyways.

Percy was probably ignoring him because Harry broke the law, the most unforgivable crime ever in Percy's book, probably even worse than being a Death Eater. Idiot.

He focused on Fudge again. He was dictating something to Percy, who was scribbling furiously on his parchment.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," Fudge was saying," into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley -"

"Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.

Harry felt a wave of mixed emotions wash over him as his eyes settled on the serene face of his headmaster.

He felt immense relief at the sight of Dumbledore, because he knew that with the headmaster's presence, his chances of acquittal in the trial had just doubled.

He also felt a great resentment, though. He resented the fact that he had to rely on the man who was responsible for his horrible summer. Dumbledore was the reason he was stuck with no news whatsoever, completely isolated from the wizarding world the whole summer.

Dumbledore was the reason the letters from his friends were all cautious and distant, he was the one who instructed them to censor their letters and it was his fault they couldn't write to him in the free and friendly way they normally did. Dumbledore was the reason he had spent four days locked in a tiny room with hardly any food or water, if he had guards set up all around the house for Harry's protection as Arabella Figg claimed he did, how come none of them had come to bust him out? Or at least to bring him some food? Water?

Harry was relieved to see Dumbledore, but he wished he wasn't, because he hated relying on a man that he held so much resentment for at the moment.

His resentment only increased when, like Percy Weasley, Dumbledore refused to meet Harry's eye, and instead focused his gaze on Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our – uh - message that the time and -er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

Harry scowled at Fudge. He may have wished he didn't need Dumbledore's help, but using such a dirty trick to keep Dumbledore from coming to the trial was a new low.

Dumbledore kept his cool.

"I must have missed it." he said cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the ministry three hours early, so no harm done."

"Yes - well - I suppose we'll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you -?"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

"Yes," Harry said.

"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but -"

"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge.

"Yes," said Harry, trying to be truthful "but -"

"Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes, but -" Harry tried to keep his cool despite the fact that they weren't allowing him to defend himself, but it was very hard.

"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"

"Yes, but -" But he was interrupted yet again.

"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"

"Yes," said Harry angrily, "but I only used it because we were -"

The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice.

"You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"

"Yes," said Harry, "because -"

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"A - what?" said Harry.

"Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?"

Harry was beyond frustrated by this point. The judges kept on interrupting him before he could explain himself, and he hadn't been given a chance to defend himself at all. Now, the first time he was being asked a question, it wasn't if he had anything to say in his defense, or what his reason for his casting the Patronuss was, it was a question as to the nature of the spell!

So instead of answering her question, he shouted out his defense: "I only did it because there were Dementors there, and they were about to kiss me and my cousin!"

The hall went quiet. Harry, who had expected more muttering from the crowd of spectators, looked around nervously.

"Dementors?" spoke Madame Bones finally. "Are you saying there were Dementors in the muggle area you were in?" she looked shocked, and slightly skeptical.

Harry was about to answer, when Fudge gave a little chuckle as if he had heard a great joke.

"Ah," he said, looking at Amelia as if inviting her to laugh along with him. "Yes. Yes, I was expecting to hear something like this. You've become quite practiced at lying ever since last year, haven't you Potter? And Dementors would be the perfect cover up story. Muggles can't see them, you know. Convenient, eh?

"Well, I'm sorry Potter, I'm going to interrupt what I am sure was a very well-rehearsed story, but seeing as it's just your word for it, and you have no witnesses who can defend you…." He smirked nastily at Harry.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked as if he were about to say something, but Harry interrupted him before he could say a word.

"Veritaserum."

"Excuse me?" said Fudge.

"Veritaserum" repeated Harry, "It's the strongest truth potion in the world. If you don't believe me, give me Veritaserum and ask me if I was telling the truth about the Dementors. Go ahead."

He and Sherlock had discussed this tactic at length. It was actually Harry who had come up with the solution, after Sherlock had said that they had to think of a way to prove that Harry was telling the truth because just his word wouldn't be enough. Harry thought of a way of ensuring that his word _would_ be enough.

"Veritaserum? Are you mad boy?" blustered Fudge, he obviously hadn't been expecting this complication "Apparently the boy really is as arrogant as the prophet says." he chuckled weakly, and looked around, slightly nervous. Harry's suggestion had caught him by surprise "Don't you know how expensive Veritaserum is? It is used for serious matters such as murder trials; we don't have the resources to give an expensive truth serum to every snot-nosed teenager who decided he was too good for the rules!"

Harry silently commended Fudge for being quick to think on his feet. Unfortunately for him, Harry was also a quick thinker, and had already come up with a comeback (he was sure Sherlock had already come up with twelve) "I'd be willing to pay for the Veritaserum from my own money." he declared.

Amelia Bones, who had been frowning sternly at Fudge ever since he had spoken, now turned to Harry. "That won't be necessary, child. According to the Decree for the Defendant's Right to Self-Defense, Paragraph F, which was added in 1909 when Veritaserum was invented, the accused has a right to request questioning under Veritaserum. You should know that Cornelius." she turned to glare at Fudge.

Then, turning back to Harry she said, "Are you aware of the protocol for examination under Veritaserum?"

Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so." she sighed "You are to comprise a list of questions by the next court meeting. You will be asked these questions while under the influence of Veritaserum. You have the permission to consult a lawyer. Keep in mind that any loopholes or open questions will make your statement less trustworthy. I suggest you use point blank questions such as 'Were there Dementors in your immediate area the night you cast the Patronus?' don't leave room in the questions for interpretation or loopholes.

"Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well, then we must schedule the next court date. On that date you will present the judges with your list of questions and be interrogated. Now, as for when-"

"Actually," interrupted Dumbledore, who had up until then been watching the proceedings with approval, though Harry could tell he had been surprised by the turn of events. "None of that should be necessary. I have with me a witness who has seen the Dementors with her own eyes. She can testify to the fact that Harry is telling the truth."

"A witness?" question Amelia Bones sternly. She seemed to have taken over the trial as Fudge was in a state of shock, and was still sitting in his seat with his mouth open, watching the proceedings with despair. "There couldn't have been any witch or wizard in Potter's vicinity. Otherwise the trace would have recorded the fact that he was in the company of another magical adult, and assumed it was the adult who performed the magic. Muggles can't see Dementors. How is it that you have a witness?"

"She is a squib." replied Dumbledore calmly.

Amelia Bones' eyes widened in understanding and she smiled wryly, "Ah yes, we always do seem to forget the squibs somehow, don't we? It is our own folly. Bring the witness in, Dumbledore."

When Harry saw Mrs. Figg striding nervously into the dungeons wearing her carpet slippers, he was extremely glad that he had the Veritaserum as a backup plan. She didn't look like the most convincing witness in the world. In fact, she looked barmy.

The interview started as a train wreck, and only improved slightly at the end when Mrs. Figg was able to correctly describe the effect the Dementors had on her- the feelings of despair and hopelessness.

Once the interview was over, and Mrs. Figg was sent back out of the courtroom, Fudge seemed to have recovered his former good mood. He was obviously heartened by how feeble Mrs. Figg's testimony was. Harry didn't blame him.

"Not a very convincing witness." Fudge sneered.

"Oh, I don't know." replied Madame Bones. "She certainly described the effects of a Dementor attack accurately, but if you weren't convinced, Cornelius, we can always go with the Veritaserum."

Fudge seemed to be deliberating very hard.

From this, Harry deduced that he must not have been aware of any Dementors missing from Azkaban. Otherewise he would have known that Harry was telling the truth, and would have jumped on the chance to avoid the Veritaserum. If he was considering going with the Veritaserum it meant he was pretty sure Harry was lying which meant he wasn't aware of any dementor rebellion.

So, Fudge wasn't aware of any dementors who had left Azkaban, Harry wondered what the meant. He would ask Sherlock, who would probably be three steps ahead of him in his deductions.

At the end, Fudge's conviction that Harry was lying seemed to win out on any hesitations he had.

"Let's use the Veritaserum." he declared, sneering nastily down at Harry.

He must have decided that Harry had only volunteered to take Veritaserum to make his story seem more trustworthy, and was actually counting on the witness to clear him before he had to take the truth potion.

Well, thought Harry, that was Fudge's problem. His future at Hogwarts was now assured.

"Very well!" declared Madame Bones "I am scheduling this meeting for next week, August nineteenth. You all," she turned to the crowd of purple-robe clad witches and wizards who had all been watching the proceedings with increasing boredom, and had groaned when Fudge had announced his decision regarding Veritaserum "I won't require you to attend that hearing. To be honest, I don't know why you were called here in the first place. There was no reason to hold a full criminal trial for a simple matter of underage magic."

The crowd cheered, the trial had obviously lost their interest at some point, and Harry was sure that many of the present witches and wizards felt that a simple matter of underage magic was beneath their dignity. Some muttered and shook their heads, angry for having been called to come for such a trivial matter, but some looked disappointed. Harry wondered if they were hoping for some juicy gossip about the Boy Who Lived. If so, the trial had probably been a letdown for them.

"Hearing dismissed!" declared Madame Bones, she turned to Harry. "You may go. As for you-" she turned, growling, to Fudge "don't think that I haven't figured out your agenda, Cornelius. It's a disgrace to the justice system-"

Harry was enjoying watching Fudge get reprimanded, but sensed that it was time to go. He got up, and heard a shuffle of footsteps beside him that indicated Sherlock's presence.

He turned to Dumbledore, wanting to thank him for his help. He had gone out of his way to bring Mrs. Figg along after all, and even if it turned out to be unecessary, Harry was grateful for it. He wanted to express his gratitude, despite the fact that he was disgruntled at some of Dumbledore's other actions.

Dumbledore though, had already got up, and was striding out of the courtroom without a backwards glance at Harry.

Harry fought down another wave of resentment. Now was a time to celebrate, not be grumpy, his acquittal was practically assured.

He strode out of the courtroom with a bounce in his step, and Sherlock by his side.

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Tom bent down and looked at the enchanted parchment for the fourth time that day. The parchment was the one connected to Harry's piece of parchment by way of the Protean Charm. For the fourth time that day, the parchment stayed empty.

Tom supposed that meant that the Order of the Phoenix hadn't managed to get their hands on Harry, and that he was still living with Sherlock.

When they had been discussing their new course of action, Tom had made Harry describe his life a little so that he's be able to realistically stage attacks against him without Harry actually being involved (it would be very suspicious if Tom wasn't witnessed trying to kill Harry at least once by the end of the school year). Harry's description of his life eventually turned into an interesting discussion between the three of them about relatives (both Harry and Tom had rolled their eyes at Sherlock when he had started complaining about Mycroft, and Sherlock had dropped the subject realizing he would get no support from his current audience) but in between that discussion they had addressed other issues as well.

One of the discussion topics was where Harry would live for the rest of the summer (or even beyond that if he did end up getting expelled for Hogwarts).

Tom knew, via Snape's reports, that Dumbledore had once again called the Order of the Phoenix together. When Harry told him that Dumbledore had sent people to bring him somewhere safe, just after he had escaped to Sherlock's, Tom told Harry about the Order, and explained that he was probably supposed to be taken to the headquarters of the group.

He added that Arthur Weasley would probably try to convince Harry to move to the headquarters once the trial ended. He had brought up the option that Arthur might refuse to take him back home so that Harry would be obligated to come with him.

Harry shot down that concern by saying that Arthur would never do something that underhanded, and even if he did, Harry had muggle money and knew how to navigate the city. So there was no chance of Harry being forced to reside in the Order headquarters.

Tom was rather disappointed to hear this, as he had hoped that if Harry found out the address of the headquarters, he might be bribed into telling Tom. However, since their peace-agreement didn't include anything about Harry helping Tom in the war, there was nothing he could do.

There was nothing left for Tom to do other than be happy for Harry that he could continue to live with Sherlock, though he still felt a little disappointed.

And though he would never admit it, Tom also felt a little jealous. Living with Sherlock and Harry sounded like a blast. It certainly had to be better than living with Nagini, all she did all day was talk about wanting to eat and wanting to mate- snakes weren't famous for their intelligence.

Tom took a moment to fantasize about leaving his current life behind. Not having to deal with the shear idiocy of Crabbe and Goyle, who's mistakes, while amusing, where a bitch to correct and cover up. Not having to listen to anymore of Lucius' annoying flattery and general ass-kissing. Not having to spend hours pondering the information Snape had given him and trying to figure out if he was a spy or not, the slippery snake.

There was something appealing about Harry and Sherlock's life, the companionship maybe? The fact that they were able to have fun? That they had someone to care for, someone to care for them?

In any case it didn't matter. Tom had worked way too long and hard to just abandon his dreams because of some childish fantasy.

In any case, he still liked the power he had over his Death Eaters. He had always craved Power. He had wanted it ever since he was a little kid in an orphanage and was locked in that tiny closet by Billy Stubbs.

Still, he couldn't keep himself from glancing down at the parchment connected to Harry's one last time.

This time though, something was different. Words were forming on the previously blank parchment.

_Lord Voldemort? Tom? Are you there? It's Sherlock._

A grin formed on Tom's face against his permission.

_Yes, it's me. Where's Harry? Did something happen?_

_No, it's all fine. He's taking a nap in bed right now. I think our breaking into the hospital tired him out. I needed to ask you for a favour._

_Do I want to know about the hospital? What am I talking about, of course I do, tell me what you were doing in a hospital! What's the favour?_

_Can you enchant another two pieces of parchment so Harry and I can communicate during the school-year? Owl mail is so slow; I don't know how you wizards handle it! I still can't believe you people don't have internet._

_No problem; I'll send the parchments with Yorry in a couple of minutes. Send Harry my regards._

_I will. Harry has some news for you actually, but I'll let him tell you himself. Thanks for the help!_

_No need for thanks, you'll owe me one for that. Tell Harry I want reports on Dumbledore's comings and goings._

_I knew you'd ask for something in return. I'll tell Harry, he's so grateful that you let him live he'll do it with no complaints._

_Good. I'll be expecting him to contact me._

Done writing, Tom took two pieces of parchment, took a quill and wrote on them both (he didn't know which one would end up with Harry):

_Don't forget you owe me!_

_Tom_

Then put them one on top of the other. He wanted Harry to remember he owed Tom every time he used the parchment (which he had a feeling would be often).

Then, after some hesitation, he took a third blank piece of parchment and put it over the other two. He waved his wand over the stack of parchments, and murmured an incantation.

He then called for Yorry, and handed her the two original pieces of parchment with instructions. The third one he kept for himself, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt over his plan to eavesdrop.


	7. Chapter 6

The atmosphere in the kitchen of Number Two, Privet Drive, was somber and melancholy. Sherlock, Harry and Sherlock's mother, Anastasia Holmes sat quietly eating their dinner in a subdued manner that was a great contrast to the lively and happy dinner conversation that usually occurred every night.

Usually, Harry and Anastasia would make enthusiastic conversation, with Sherlock butting in occasionally with a rude observation or sarcastic comment. Tonight, however, Harry was looking positively downtrodden, and Sherlock too was extremely upset. He wasn't giving any outward indication that he was distressed, but Anastasia could tell, simply from the fact that he hadn't made a single observation all night.

Anastasia herself was deeply upset, and had to actually stifle a small sob as she thought of Harry leaving and Sherlock returning to his former unhealthy and closed off lifestyle. Tonight was Harry's last night at the Holmes residence before he left for St. Brutus' the next day.

Anastasia didn't believe that Harry really went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. She might not be the genius that her two sons and her late husband were, but it didn't take a very high IQ to realize that Harry and her son were hiding something from her. Plus, there was no way Harry was a criminal.

There was a kindness and patience to Harry that she had never seen in anyone else. Harry tolerated Sherlock's quirks with a long-suffering but amused smile, never once getting irritated or frustrated.

An incurably criminal boy wouldn't grin at Sherlock with that fun-loving, affectionate (and dare she hope- slightly infatuated?) grin that she saw Harry send Sherlock constantly.

Harry may be a lot of things, and sometimes, when Anastasia looked in his eyes she could tell that he had been through a lot in his short life, but Harry was not a cold-hearted criminal. This, she was certain of.

She didn't care that Harry was hiding a secret- he could be an alien from Mars come to study the lives of humans for all she cared. He had made Sherlock open himself up to friendship and allow himself to feel emotion like he never had before, and Anastasia would never forget that. She owed Harry.

Harry had brought something into Sherlock's life that had never been there before. Anastasia knew that Sherlock loved her dearly, but she had never once seen him smiling and joking with her as frankly and openly as he did with Harry.

She knew that she was the only one in the family who had been worried about Sherlock before now. Sherlock had been perfectly happy in his solitude, and had had no intention of disrupting it by trying to make friends. As for Mycroft, he cared about Sherlock because Sherlock was his brother, but the only real interest he had in Sherlock was when they were trying to one-up each other.

As the only 'normal' member of the Holmes family, Anastasia found that she had no one to share her worries with- no one else in the family gave the slightest attention to something as petty and mundane as _emotion._

She was the only one who had found fault with Sherlock's solitude because she was the only _normal_ person in her family. Anastasia wasn't a disconnected genius like her husband had been. Yes, she was extremely intelligent, but she was nowhere near the level of genius that her beloved Arthur had been.

It hadn't been her brains that had drawn Arthur to her, it was the fact that, despite her being an emotional person, Arthur's coldness hadn't put her off like it did most people. She had managed to see him for who he really was and had loved him deeply despite his detached and cold demeanor, because she had seen the beautiful soul that lay beneath it.

Sherlock was the carbon copy of his father- the only thing more astounding than his genius was how utterly emotionless he could be. But Anastasia knew the goodness in him that lurked right alongside the coldness, even if it was well hidden sometimes.

That was what had caused her to worry so much.

She had seen Sherlock withdraw more and more into his head as the years passed. Seen how every year he thought more with his brain and less with his heart. She didn't want Sherlock to erase that part of himself- the emotional part, it was the most beautiful side of him. And it was becoming less and less visible as time went by.

She had moved to Surrey because she had hoped that in the new place Sherlock would find acceptance and friendship that would bring out that long-forgotten side of him.

At first, she thought the move had been a colossal mistake. From the very first day she had noticed all the gossiping and spying that occurred between the ladies of the neighborhood and was disgusted. Those harpies making snide comments behind Sherlock's back was the last thing her son needed!

She had completely despaired at that point, feeling as if she had failed her son, and that was when Harry had come.

He had been a godsend- friendly, fun-loving, and most of all- accepting. He had charmed his way into Anastasia's heart as well as Sherlock's, had fit right into the family dynamic as if he had always belonged there, and had caused Sherlock to smile without there being a dead body involved.

The house was brighter and cheerier with another person in it, especially a person who brought so much joy to the other inhabitants of the house.

And now he would be gone. Anastasia knew she would miss him dearly, and she knew it would be five times harder for Sherlock to deal with his departure than for her.

She could no longer help it, she got up from the table, walked around to where Harry was sitting, and flung her arms around him, sobbing.

"You'll write, won't you?" she demanded.

Harry looked like he wasn't sure if to feel pleased or embarrassed by the display of affection. He patted her arm lightly and smiled up at her with great affection "I promise". His eyes looked a bit glassy, but his smile was sincere.

"Good" she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head "I'll finish up her and wash the dishes, you and Sherlock go upstairs, you should spend as much time together as possible before you need to leave".

Harry nodded at her and motioned Sherlock to follow him. Sherlock got up wordlessly from the table and followed Harry.

* * *

"Well, what is it?" demanded Sherlock, the second him and Harry had reached his room.

"What's what?" asked Harry in confusion.

"My present, of course. What did you get me as a present?"

"You mean you don't know?" asked Harry in shock. Seeing the scowl on Sherlock's face he smirked "You really don't know, oh I am _so_ never letting you forget this, Mr. I-Know-Everything!"

Sherlock's scowl deepened and Harry decided that he should put the teasing aside for now. He bent down, and pulled a box out from under the bed.

"That's the worst hiding place I've ever seen" commented Sherlock.

"Well, I figured you'd deduce that I got you something within about five seconds, I just figured if it was out of sight the chances of you being tempted into opening it would be smaller." answered Harry. Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement, and then tore the box out of Harry's hands impatiently.

Inside sat a white skull, with a pink bow taped to it at the temple.

"So you have someone to talk to when I'm away. I figure it's a bit better than that smiley face drawn on your wall." Said Harry with a grin.

Sherlock laughed "It is!" he took the skull out and examined it.

"It's not a real skull" was his genius deduction.

"Of course it's not!" exclaimed Harry "What did you want me to do? Break into a mortuary or dig up a grave to get you a real skull? I stole it from the biology classroom at that preppy school near Magnolia Crescent" suddenly he looked a bit guilty "Do you think it was stealing? I had to break into the school to get the skull because I didn't have any idea where I might be able to buy one, but I left money behind to pay for it!"

Sherlock laughed "So breaking into a school is somehow better than breaking into a mortuary?"

"Yes!" answered Harry emphatically.

Sherlock looked down at the skull again "Thank you for the present, Harry, I love it. But, you know, it won't really be able to replace you. Even if you do talk an awful lot of nonsense, I really think I prefer you to an inanimate object. You'll use that parchment to write a lot, won't you?"

He looked down at the ground, looking slightly uncomfortable with his display of emotion. Harry too blushed and tried to pretend he wasn't touched by the moment.

Neither Sherlock nor Harry were especially touchy-feely or affectionate, and any display of emotion was highly irregular for either of them.

Harry had never been given any sign of affection or caring for the first ten years of his life and had become accustomed to it. He didn't feel comfortable hugging his friends and lavishing affection on them and vice versa. It reminded him too much of Aunt Petunia fawning over Dudley.

Sherlock was socially inept and had a brilliant mind. He, too, was far more comfortable relying on his brain then on something as erratic and unstable as emotions.

Still, both Harry and Sherlock managed to convey their affection for each other in more subtle ways.

Harry had witnessed for himself how much Sherlock cared for him the day of his second trial at the ministry.

It had been obvious to them both that Harry was going to win. After all, having been imbibed with Veritaserum and then point blank if he had been telling the truth about the dementors was a foolproof way to prove his innocence.

Still, after leaving the trial with Harry as victor, Sherlock had seemed deflated somehow. He had congratulated Harry with a very painful looking smile on his face, and had proceeded to fume the entire way home.

He had been silent during the entire bus ride and the walk home, only stopping to snarl at Mr. and Mrs. Number Seven "You're both cheating on each other. I suggest you stay married, you obviously deserve each other."

Harry had realized that Sherlock's bad mood had stemmed from the fact that he had been hoping that Harry would have to stay with Sherlock and was disappointed now that it turned out that he would be leaving. Harry had found it touching.

Still, even though he had already known Sherlock cared, hearing him say it made a wave of affection for Sherlock wash over Harry, and when he nodded his consent his throat felt slightly obstructed.

Sherlock, as unaccustomed as Harry to such emotional displays lightened the mood by saying "So, I see I've been a good influence on you, Harry. You would never have had the guts to break into a private institution before this summer."

The conversation relaxed again, and the skull grinned on as its blank eyes watched the two boys continue to chat well into the night.

* * *

Harry sat in the train compartment and stared out of the window. The platform was bustling with people. Kids were greeting each other happily, smiling, and talking about their summers.

Harry watched a tearful mother hug her son goodbye. The son squirmed uncomfortably, looking around to see if any of his friends were there to witness him being so uncool. Once he saw that no one was watching, he turned to his mother and gave her a long tight hug. The mother smile tearfully and ruffled his hair.

Harry himself had already said his goodbyes earlier at the muggle side of the train station. Anastasia Holmes had hugged him tenderly, and wished him good luck with incredible fondness in her voice. Harry had already come to associate her presence with the sweet and motherly feeling that he had only felt around Molly Weasley before.

The only difference between the two was that Mrs. Holmes was a much more lenient mother than Molly. Harry could never imagine Ron being allowed to get away with keeping pieces of dead skin in a container in the kitchen. Then again, Harry supposed raising Sherlock must have gifted Anastasia Holmes with super-human patience.

When the time had come to say goodbye to Sherlock himself, Harry had found himself choking up. He had never before known acceptance or friendship of the kind Sherlock had given him this summer. The brilliant teenager now held a big part of his heart, and he knew he would miss Sherlock's presence more than he had ever missed anything before.

He would miss the constant stream of conversation that Sherlock could keep up for hours, endless deductions that Harry was never able to keep up with. He would miss being woken up in the middle of the night by a hauntingly beautiful melody played out on a violin. He would miss how Sherlock would smile indulgently at him, and explain his complicated deductions with a patience he never showed anyone else. Most of all, he would miss the feeling of companionship, of having someone to care for, someone who cared for him in return. Someone he could be himself around with absolutely no reservations or hesitation.

He had wanted to tell Sherlock all of this, but when he opened his mouth, all that would come out was: "I'll miss you a lot".

Sherlock smiled at Harry and pulled him into a hug. "I wish I could come with you, I'll be bored to death with you gone." He looked at Harry then suddenly.

For one second, Sherlock stared deeply into Harry's eyes as if he was trying to convey some deeper message that he couldn't say out loud. A second later he had looked away, and the moment was broken.

"There's a wizarding kid behind you" whispered Sherlock "His baby sister threw up on him this morning. He's had time to change clothes, but not to shower. You might want to avoid sharing a compartment with him."

Harry was laughing as he and Sherlock shared one last one-armed-hug and parted, but as soon as Sherlock was gone the smile had slid from Harry's face.

He had felt depressed at the thought of not seeing Sherlock again for so long, and had set out to find a compartment for himself where he could sulk quietly. Finding no empty compartment, he had settled for the next best thing-

In one compartment, there was only one girl, and she seemed absorbed in her own world and unlikely to bother Harry, something that suited him.

There was something about her that made Harry take an instant liking to her- she had her wand stuck behind her ear for safekeeping, was wearing a necklace made out of what appeared to be butterbeer caps, and was reading a newspaper upside down. But it wasn't her weirdness that had caused Harry to feel like they already knew each other and were friends- it was her air of utter indifference to what other people thought of her. Shelock had the same aura about him, and the thought made Harry smile.

"Mind if I sit here?" he had asked her.

She had looked up from her newspaper at him, revealing pale protuberant eyes, surveyed him for a second and then nodded.

She had gone back to her newspaper a second later, and Harry had sat opposite to her and was now staring thoughtfully out of the window.

A couple seconds later, the girl seemed to have finished the article she had been reading, because she folded her newspaper and turned her gaze to Harry.

"You're Harry Potter." She told him.

Harry nodded "I'm aware."

"That's good," answered the girl solemnly "it means you aren't infected by the Flimni Floogbies. They make you loose track of who you are, you know. I'm Luna Lovegood."

"Pleased to meet you" answered Harry, meaning it.

She looked like she was about to speak again, but just then the compartment door opened, and Ron and Hermione rushed in.

"Harry! There you are!" cried Hermione and embraced him. Her hug nearly choked him, and he patted her back awkwardly feeling embarrassed. He was happy to see her, to see them both, but he felt less connected, less on the same level with them than he usually was. His awareness of this fact made him feel uncomfortable.

"Oh Harry! We really can't stay long to talk, the prefect's meeting's already started, and we're late as it is, but we just had to find you before the train left the station, we haven't seen you all summer! The second the meeting's done we'll come back here and we can catch up. Okay?"

Harry nodded feeling a bit taken aback at how quickly Hermione was speaking. Hermione gave him a quick smile and then dragged Ron out of the compartment by the hand very quickly. Harry heard her from out in the hallway. "Oooh, late for our very first prefect meeting, how embarrassing! Hurry up, Ron!"

It had all happened so fast, that Harry had barely had time to process what she had said. Once he had thought it through, he sat up in surprise. "Did she say _We're_ late to the prefect's meeting?"

Luna nodded her head slowly peering at him curiously.

"She didn't say ' _I'm_ late', she said ' _we're_ late' right?" Luna nodded again.

"Huh" said Harry softly.

He honestly hadn't thought about the prefect position at all that summer and had forgotten that this was the year prefects would be assigned from their age group. Even if he had remembered though, he never in a million years would have guessed that Ron would have become their grade's prefect.

He wondered on what basis Ron was given the job.

Ron was abysmal at school, so the only reason to give him the prefect position would be all the adventures he'd been through during the school years. The only qualification for his becoming prefect would have been his bravery in rescuing the Philosopher's Stone during the first year, and helping save Ginny the second. And if those were the reasons for Ron being chosen as prefect, then Harry should have been the one to get the badge, as he had done everything Ron had done and more.

Harry could only think of one explanation for the mysterious nomination, and if that explanation was true, then it was definitely unfair on Dumbledore's part.

Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed how Ron reacted when he became jealous of Harry and when he felt that Harry was overshadowing him last year, and was trying to soothe Ron's ego by giving him a position superior to Harry's to spare Harry the heartache and hurt he had had to go through last year during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry was touched by the sentiment, but he also felt slightly guilty that it was his fault the prefect position wasn't being given to someone who really deserved it. He also felt resentful- if it took getting nominated to be prefect for Ron to stay his friend, then he wasn't a friend worth having. Harry wanted to believe that Ron would stick by him even if he didn't get the role. Dumbledore's actions indicated what his opinion of the friendship between Ron and him was, and it was insulting.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the compartment door opening, as Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom entered the compartment.

"Luna, is it okay if we sit-" she began, before spotting Harry "Harry!" she cried happily sitting down next to him "I haven't seen you all this summer, where have you been?"

"Around" said Harry vaguely, not feeling in the mood to start a long and complicated explanation "Hey, Neville."

Neville grinned and greeted him back.

"Does everyone here know each other?" asked Ginny "Harry, Neville, this is Luna Lovegood. She's in my year, but in Ravenclaw. Luna, these are Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom."

"Okay." Said Luna faintly. She stared at Neville for a couple of seconds before turning back to her magazine. Harry thought that she wasn't trying to be rude, she just wasn't aware that the expected answer was "Nice to meet you." In any case, Neville didn't seem to mind. In fact, he had already turned back to Harry.

"So, Harry, guess what I got from my family for my birthday?" he asked, enthusiasm shining in his eyes.

Harry was no Sherlock, but he decided to consider the question rationally. Knowing Neville's strict grandmother, it would probably be something to help him at school. Neville seemed really happy about getting it, so if it was something to do with education, it probably had something to do with his best and favorite subject.

"Something to do with Herbology?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yup!" exclaimed Neville proudly. He rummaged for a bit in his bag, before emerging with a yell of triumph clutching the ugliest plant Harry had ever seen. It looked like a grey cactus, only it had big pulsing boils instead of spikes.

"Well," laughed Harry "she certainly didn't give it to you for its aesthetic value. I'm assuming it has some important magical properties?"

"It's called a _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ " sighed Neville happily, staring at the plant with pride "it has tons of cool things it can do. It's super rare and can be used in all kinds of really powerful healing potions. Not that I'd ever put mine in a potion" he shuddered, and hugged his plant protectively.

"It has a really cool defense mechanism too, look!" he pulled out his wand with the hand that wasn't holding his toad, Trevor, and prepared to poke the plant with it when the compartment door opened again.

Cho Chang, the incredibly attractive Ravenclaw seeker whom Harry had had a crush on since last year peaked inside.

Seeing all the intrigued faces staring at her, she appeared to get a bit nervous and stammered slightly as she greeted Harry.

"Um, hey Harry. I just uhhh thought I'd stop by to say hi." She licked her lips nervously.

"Hi." Said Harry. He tried to think of something more sophisticated to say, but nothing came to mind. It occurred to him as he looked at her that his perspective of her had changed.

Last year he had been blown away by her beauty. Now, as he looked at her, he could still acknowledge that she was a gorgeous girl, but after spending an entire summer around Sherlock with his ethereal beauty and endless grace, Cho's good looks didn't seem as impressive as they had before.

Apparently, that fact still didn't prevent him from being reduced to a dribbling idiot whenever she was around.

He continued to stare at her, searching around wildly in his mind for something intelligent to say as the silence became more and more awkward.

Cho's blush deepened, and she finally said "So…. That's it, just thought I'd stop by. Bye now!" and without waiting for a response she ran out of the compartment, closing the door after her.

'I should have asked her how her summer was!' thought Harry furiously a minute after she had left, but it was too late by then.

Ah, well, it didn't really matter. Cho was pretty and all, but Harry didn't know her well enough to really be emotionally attached to her, so it wasn't the end of the world if nothing happened between them.

His attention was turned back to Neville seconds later, as Neville continued talking about his plant. "…and it spurts liquid from all these boils when it feels threatened. It's not poisonous or anything, but it stinks. Cool, right?"

"Pretty cool." Answered Harry, slipping into a fantasy of shooting greenish stinky liquid into Malfoy's face with a muggle water gun. He wondered if he could procure some of the smelly substance.

"Neville, what causes it to shoot out the stinky stuff?"

"It's called stinksap. Here, I'll show you…"

"No, no," Harry hastened to answer "we still have a four hour ride left, and I don't want to spend it in a stinky compartment. You can show me later."

Neville nodded. "You're right, Harry. Just remind me to show you."

They settled into comfortable conversation, that wasn't interrupted until Ron and Hermione entered the compartment about an hour later.

They greeted Neville and Ginny, and then turned to Harry. Hermione gave Harry a pointed look, and Harry nodded and got up.

"Could you excuse us for a bit?" he asked Neville, Ginny and Luna "Hermione, Ron and I have some things we need to discuss."

They were waved away, and Harry exited to compartment with his first two friends.

"Let's go find somewhere private."

As Harry's search had revealed earlier that day, there were no empty compartments in the train. Every room they looked into was filled with people who all stared at Harry openly with curiosity. Some of them even blatantly pointed.

Finally, with a burst of genius, Harry suggested they try the prefect compartment- since the meeting was over, each prefect had likely joined their friends in the other compartments, and there was a chance it would be empty.

Hermione seemed reluctant at the idea of breaking the rules by letting a non-prefect into the compartment, but Harry just rolled his eyes at her and entered the room. Hermione soon followed looking resigned but a bit nervous at the thought of being caught.

Once they had settled down in the compartment an awkward silence descended. Harry felt that he didn't know where to start or how to explain what he was feeling, and both Hermione and Ron were looking at him expectantly waiting for him to start his explanation.

"So I guess you're wondering where I've been staying all summer" he finally began. They both nodded.

"You want to know where I stayed, why I stayed there and didn't come to the place Dumbledore wanted me to stay in. I didn't give much by way of explanation in the letter I wrote to you, though I did mention I was angry at you. I'm sure that upset you and you want to hear an explanation for that too."

Both Hermione and Ron nodded. Ron's face was red and he looked indignant and mutinous. Hermione's eyes were wide and slightly wet; he had hurt her feelings with what he had written in the letter.

He felt slightly bad for making Hermione sad, but then he remembered how alone, scared and isolated he had felt that summer before he had met Sherlock, and his guilt vanished.

"I know that things were different from your point of view- you were just following the instructions Dumbledore had given you, right?"

Both Hermione and Ron nodded.

"I understand what things were like from your side. The thing is, you two never once stopped to consider what I was experiencing from my side.

"Do you know what this past summer was like for me? You need to understand my mindset at the beginning of this summer: First of all- I was tired. I was so so tired of bad things happening to me, and me not being able to stop them. All I wanted was to catch a break. One tiny break. Just one school year where I wouldn't have to end up fearing for my life. But, of course, there's no way I could ever hope for peace now, because Voldemort's back. And I was just so tired of being scared and having to be strong and brave.

The whole summer all I can do is worry about what's coming the next school year, what I'll need to face. All this summer I'm either agonizing over what the future holds for me, or reliving that night in the graveyard.

At nights I dreamt of the graveyard, and saw Cedric die in front of my eyes over and over and over. During the days I wonder if anyone else I know is being killed by Voldemort at that very moment.

I got almost no sleep at night because of the nightmares, and during the day all I could do was worry and try to get some news of what's going on in the wizarding world.

Do you know how much comfort an honest and sincere letter would have been then? I was going crazy from living scenario after scenario of someone I loved or cared for or even just knew getting blasted away by Voldemort. And you couldn't give me even the slightest bit of news? Of comfort?

Instead you made me feel like a disobedient child- stay where you are, and let the grownups handle it. Do you realize what you were doing to me?"

Harry was breathing hard by now. He had been so happy and content these last few weeks, he had felt so carefree, that he had completely forgotten the depression and the crazed restlessness from the beginning of the summer. Now that he was describing those days, he felt the familiar feelings flood him again, and resentment for Ron and Hermione welled up inside him.

He looked at his two oldest friends. Ron was looking irritated. Harry knew why. He had made Ron feel guilty, and Ron hated feeling guilty or admitting that he was wrong. He was mad at Harry for making him feel like a bad person.

Harry was starting to reach the conclusion that Ron was a friend who was fun to hang around with, but not the type of friend you wanted to rely on at a time of need.

Hermione, on the other hand, was looking absolutely wretched. There were tears in her eyes and before Harry knew it she rushed over to hug him.

"Oh Harry! I'm so so so so sorry! I didn't realize how bad it was for you, or I would have done something. But Dumbledore told us not to write you anything important, because the letters could be intercepted! I really really wish that these security methods weren't necessary, especially now that I know how awful you had it this summer, but we had no choice! We had to!"

Harry felt his heart soften a little. Hermione could be an annoying know-it-all sometimes, but he could count on her when he needed help or comfort- she genuinely cared.

If only she would take two minutes to think!

"In your last letter to me this summer, you asked me where I was. I couldn't figure out how you would know that I left my aunt and uncle's house at first, and then I realized. I found out the day I had to fight off the dementors that there was supposed to be someone watching me to make sure that something like this wouldn't happen. Dumbledore had assigned some sort of guard to protect me."

Hermione nodded.

"And obviously, if you knew I was missing, you were aware of the guard; that was how you knew I wasn't there. Ron, when your dad took me to the ministry for my trial, he tried to convince me to come with him to some sort of headquarters. He said it was the headquarters of a group that was fighting against Voldemort and that you've been staying there this summer."

Both Hermione and Ron nodded.

"The people who were watching me this summer, they were in this group too, weren't they?" he didn't need to see his friends' nods to know he was correct, it all fit together perfectly. "So you lived in the headquarters of the group, and knew there were people guarding me. Did it once occur to you to write me a letter and send it with one of my guards?"

Both Hermione and Ron stared at him. A look was forming on Hermione's face. A look that Harry had seen before on other people, but never on Hermione. The 'Why-Didn't-I-Think-of-That?' look.

"This whole summer, that idea didn't occur to you once, did it?" asked Harry with a bitter smile. "and I know why you didn't think of it. Dumbledore told you that you couldn't send me any letters with information, and because he's Dumbledore you didn't think to question it. We're so used to thinking of Dumbledore as this omniscient figure, who knows all and sees all and always knows what's best, that it doesn't really occur to anyone to question anything he says."

Hermione let out a subdued laugh. "That's exactly it. Here I am thinking to myself- 'How could I have overlooked such an obvious solution when I pride myself for being smart?' and you come out with the exact reason. It never _did_ occur to us to question anything Dumbledore said."

Harry smiled bitterly "Believe me, I understand. I was always just as awed by Dumbledore, just as ready to do anything he says, he really does always seem so wise, doesn't he?

I understand why it didn't occur to you to question what he says, because I've experienced for myself what it's like when he tells you something. He really makes you feel like that's the only solution, and like he's really wise for suggesting it. That's why I'm not more angry than I am, because I know the effect he has on people.

But I'm your best friend and he's just your headmaster. I know that we're all naturally inclined to believe he's always right, and maybe he is most of the time, but _I'm_ your best friend. If there was any occasion where you should have questioned what he told you, it was this one. You didn't bother trying to think of a different solution for my sake, and I'll be honest with you- it really really hurts."

Ron looked really apologetic by this point and Hermione looked absolutely miserable.

Harry sighed, they were still his friends and he still loved them. He hated seeing Hermione looking so downtrodden, and he figured he had already made his point.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you. You're my friends, and I don't want to stay angry with you. I've said my piece, and I think I've made my point. Let's go back to the compartment with everyone else and forget this ever happened. Just next time, when you're faced with a similar situation, you'll think it through more. Won't you?"

They both looked relieved that they were being forgiven so quickly and nodded. In fact, they were both so grateful that Harry had forgiven them with such little trouble, that they completely forgot to ask where Harry had been that summer.


	8. Chapter 7

Back in the train compartment, Luna was once again reading her newspaper and Ginny was discussing Quidditch with Neville.

Harry and Ron joined Ginny and Neville's conversation effortlessly, while Hermione buried herself in a book.

Harry was glad for the comfortable air of companionship in the compartment, after the loaded conversation he had just had with Ron and Hermione. He was also grateful that the others didn't ask any questions about where they had just gone. He was feeling content and comfortable and didn't feel like dealing with all the unpleasant and bitter emotions that the conversation had brought up in him.

The comfortable atmosphere was disrupted a couple of minutes later, though, as Draco Malfoy entered their train compartment, his trademark sneer marring what would have been an otherwise handsome face.

"Oh, god, you again Malfoy?" groaned Harry "Shove off, would you?"

He honestly didn't understand why Draco Malfoy visited his train compartment every single year, why he sought them out. When Harry hated people, he tended to avoid them, but Draco Malfoy kept on purposefully confronting him. Harry wondered why that was.

An idea occurred to him, and a wicked grin spread over his face.

Malfoy looked slightly disconcerted by the grin, and hurried to hurdle a comeback at Harry. Harry had the distinct impression that Malfoy had planned the insult in advance. "Mind your manners around me Potter, it wouldn't be wise to get on my bad side. You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out detentions."

The whole speech was delivered with a cocky grin, but the grin faded somewhat when Malfoy saw that Harry was continuing to grin in a rather smug manner.

"You know, Malfoy, I've been thinking. Why do you keep on seeking Ron, Hermione and I out? When I hate someone, I do my very best to avoid them, because I don't like being in the presence of their ugly mug" he gave Malfoy a pointed look, and the boy flushed angrily "but not you, Malfoy. I've noticed that if you haven't had a fight with us for too long, you'll go out of your way looking for us. Like now" he added pointedly "And I started thinking to myself, why would you do your very best to be in the company of people you hate? And I think I've figured the answer out."

Harry's grin became wider as he delivered the punch line "You have a crush, don't you? You have a crush on Hermione, which is why you're always seeking us out. You can't let anyone ever know about the crush, because she's muggleborn and you're a Slytherin, so you pretend to hate us, but you can't stand the thought of her not knowing who you are, so you try to bully her to get her attention. I actually feel a bit sorry for you, unrequited love sucks."

A look of sudden comprehension bloomed across Neville and Ginny's faces, and Ron's gaze was bouncing from Draco to Hermione and back, his face a bit green. He looked like he wanted to puke. Even Crabbe and Goyle were staring at Malfoy speculatively, apparently Harry had been quite convincing in his argument.

Malfoy's face was the light pink the was the equivalent of a tomato-colored blush on anyone else's face. Finally, he sneered (his default expression, Harry supposed) and snarled "As if I would even think of touching a filthy little mudblood like her!" before storming out of the compartment.

As soon as the door closed behind Malfoy and his two thugs the compartment filled with the sound of laughter.

"That was awesome, Harry!" cried Neville in between snorts of laughter "Malfoy in love with Hermione, there's literally nothing more offensive you could have said to him! No offense, Hermione." He hastened to add, staring at her.

She shook her head at him, indicating that she had taken the comment the way he had intended, and then chuckled quietly again. "In love with me, Harry? You're out of your mind. With the amount of hair gel he uses in his hair, there's no way it's me he's in love with. It's got to be either you or Ron."

Harry snorted again, but Ron looked vaguely sick.

After the giggles in the compartment subsided again, Neville spoke out "But seriously now, Harry, do you really think it is possible that he might be in love with Hermione? If so, I can't help feeling a bit sorry for him."

Harry shook his head "I just said that to humiliate him. The reason he seeks us out is because he is a bully, and bullies love the empowered feeling they get by putting another person down, it makes them feel more important than they really are. The only time Draco ever feels significant is when he's bothering other people, otherwise, no one would ever pay any attention to him." Harry was quite familiar with bullies as a result of his childhood, and had spent quite some time in his younger years pondering the motivation behind his tormenters' behavior. He thought he could write a book on the psychology behind bullying. After all, he had grown up in the home of the two biggest bullies to ever walk the face of this earth, and one of them came with his own gang.

Luna, who had been silent up until that moment, laid down her magazine and added her own input: "It's really not Draco's fault for being the way he is, it is a well known fact that an ancient curse that was placed on the Malfoy family a century ago causes them to attract Blibbering Humdingers."

Ron scowled, unforgiving "I think Malfoy is a Blibbering Humdinger himself, what an arse!"

Luna nodded solemnly "Well, that's what Blibbering Humdingers make you do, they give you the constant sensation of having a stick up your behind, it's terribly uncomfortable."

"What utter and complete nonsense!" snapped Hermione "I've never heard of Blibbering Humdingers in my life!"

Ron gave her an exasperated look "Hermione, she just said Malfoy has a giant stick up his arse, she obviously knows what she's talking about."

Hermione sputtered incredulously while the rest of the cabin roared with laughter,

As Harry laughed heartily, he felt any remaining tension from him conversation with Ron and Hermione leave him. For the time being everything was good, and Harry forgot all about Dumbledore, Voldemort, friends and betrayals.

 

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Albus Dumbledore pulled out of his pensieve and stood up, groaning as his aging muscles protested against the sudden movement after so much time kneeling.

Well, it had been worth it. All the briberies, confunduses, the long hours of trying to track down Amy Benson had finally paid off. Just yesterday he had finally managed to find the psychiatric ward in which she was located, and get a private interview with her. An interview during which he had obtained this memory.

He now finally knew the location of that cave. The cave to which Tom Riddle had taken Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop so very long ago. And Albus just knew that there was a Horcrux in that cave, he could feel it in his bones.

He was glad he had made some progress on the Horcrux front, because things were moving much quicker than he had planned, and he was having trouble keeping up with everything that was going on.

It had started the night that Severus had returned from a Death Eater meeting to give him some surprising news: Voldemort was no longer interested in hearing the contents of the prophecy. Severus didn't know why, and Voldemort hadn't seen fit to explain it, but he had ordered all his Death Eaters to stop all the efforts that were being made to obtain the prophecy.

The news had actually relieved Albus the first time he had heard it. He had been dedicating so much of his time to protecting the prophecy, that he had had no time to focus on the most important part of the war against Voldemort: the Horcruxes.

Now that he didn't need to worry about protecting the prophecy, he would be able to dedicate more of his time to hunting down the pieces of Voldemort's severed soul and destroying them.

He had been feeling hopeful, and, he had to admit, slightly arrogant, when he managed to bypass the wards around the run-down Gaunt shack so easily.

He had to admit he was proud of how little time it had taken him to discover the location of one of the Horcruxes. He was already starting to imagine the light at the end of the tunnel, the death of Voldemort, when disaster had struck.

The source of the disaster wasn't one of Voldemort's traps- little did Albus know before he set out on his journey that the greatest danger he would face during his quest for the Horcruxes wouldn't be of Voldemort's making, it would be himself.

He had been prepared for dark and dangerous enchantments cast around the shack, for a swarm of ghastly dark creatures (inferi, maybe, or dementors). What he hadn't been prepared for was his own reaction when he saw the stone on the Horcrux-ring.

When he had spotted the symbol carved on it, he had become light-headed with euphoria. He felt a haze surround him, and all he could think of was seeing his mother, his father, Arianna, again.

Who was Voldemort? What did he matter? In a few short moments he would get to hug his parents, to sweep sweet little Arianna up in his arms and whisper in her ear how sorry he was. Whisper it over and over and over again until she forgave him, and they all became a family again.

The blinding pain, like one-thousand burning knives, coursing through his skin, originating from his finger brought him back to his right mind and he quickly pulled the ring off and apparated away.

It was too late by then, though, and all Severus could have done was trap the curse inside one arm for the time being.

And suddenly, Albus had found himself with far too little time, and far too much to do. He needed to gradually teach Harry about the Horcruxes, slowly preparing him for his destiny, but how could he, when the boy didn't even know about the prophecy yet?

He wouldn't be able to dump the prophecy on Harry and then immediately start teaching him about Horcruxes, the boy's mind would rebel, he would break under the pressure. Harry needed more time to come to terms with everything, but because of his moment of weakness, they didn't have that type of time to spare anymore.

He would have to force Harry to absorb all this life-changing information within the span of a year- the amount of time Albus had to live. Harry would just have to handle the sudden influx of information as best he could.

Harry would be able to manage it, he was a strong boy, one of the strongest people Albus had ever known.

Strong, and yet, so weak and needy when it came to love and emotions. Deprived of the love he had craved for the first ten years of his childhood, Harry was desperate to please his friends, to do anything for them. He would give everything in his power and more to his loved ones.

Dumbledore felt ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but in retrospect, it was a good thing that Harry was raised the way he was.

It felt like blasphemy to even think it. No child, and especially not one as loving, as noble, as good as Harry, should have had to go through the childhood Harry had endured.

But despite how awful it was, how sad Albus felt when he thought of the first lonely and miserable years of Harry's life, he had to admit to himself that it turned out for the best.

Harry appreciated his friends in a way someone who had grown up with love in his life never would, and would therefore do anything for them. Even sacrifice himself.

And Harry had to sacrifice himself in the end, for the greater good.

It broke Albus' heart to think of it because he had come to care for Harry, even love him, during the brief years they had known each other. But despite the great loss to the world that the absence of Harry's loving personality would be, Albus knew it had to happen.

So in a way, it was better that Harry had had such a sad childhood, if it meant it would enable him to do what was necessary for the greater good.

Dumbledore sighed. People never understood what kind of sacrifices being the leader of the light entailed. Because sometimes, you couldn't fight evil with good. Sometimes, you had to defeat evil by committing a smaller evil. That was a kind of sacrifice only he would ever know.

He sighed again, and stood up, sparing a short glance to his blackened and shriveled hand, before heading out of his office and towards the Great Hall, to greet the returning students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm all caught up with my account of fanfiction, which means no more daily updates. I hope to get the next chapter out soon, though!  
> Thanks to everyone who left a comment!


	9. Chapter 8

Sherlock opened the door to his room and threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

He looked at the skull, which was smiling vacantly at him from the desk across the room.

"Bored!" he grunted at it.

The skull continued to smile.

Dull! Talking to an inanimate object was so dull.

He used to talk to inanimate objects out loud before, speaking out loud helped organize the mess that was going through his head. He had liked speaking out loud to the empty space of his room, laying a whole complex tangle out in neat, precise words till it all made sense. But that was before he realized how interesting having a conversation could be.

He enjoyed talking to Harry much more than he did talking to himself, and was finding it hard to return to his old pattern of talking to the smiley-face drawn on his wall.

Sherlock glanced at his watch.

_Two hours and twenty seven minutes until Harry would be available._

Harry had promised him that he would write right after dinner in the great hall about how everything had gone and if the adventure for that year had already started.

Sherlock knew, from Harry's incredibly detailed stories, that the train always arrived at the station just as it was getting dark.

After that it was 20 minutes to get to school, 30 minutes for the sorting ceremony, and an hour and a half for the feast and start-of-term announcements. Then it was 12 minutes to get to the Gryffindor tower, another 10 to shower, get ready for bed, and get rid of Weasley who would probably want to talk or play chess or something else stupid like that, and then, finally, Harry would be available to write.

It had started to get dark exactly 25 minutes ago, which left two hours and twenty seven minutes until he could expect a message from Harry. He glared at the skull once again.

"You don't give a damn that just by looking at my mother's shoes and hand I managed to deduce that she went to the Coffee shop two streets down today, and stopped to talk with Mrs. Turner. My brilliance is wasted on you."

The skull remained impassive.

"I think I'll name you Anderson." Said Sherlock vindictively. When the skull didn't respond he continued, "Anderson is in the Police force back in London and he's an incompetent idiot, so the name would suit you perfectly."

Anderson smiled. No, not Anderson, the skull just didn't look like an Anderson.

"Or I could call you Lockhart, he was extremely good looking, and no one can deny that you are too, but he was the biggest idiot to ever grace Planet Earth. His skull is just as empty as you are."

Once the issue of naming the skull was resolved, Sherlock went back to staring at the clock.

_Two hours and twenty six minutes until Harry would be available._

* * *

A white eye, with no pupil, met Harry's gaze as he stared at the black creature incredulously. Since when were there animals harnessed to the school carriages? They were perfectly capable of driving themselves!

And what kind of animals were these anyways? They were like nothing Harry had ever seen before. Well, Hermione would know.

"Hermione, what are those things?" he asked, pointing to the midnight black and slightly intimidating creatures.

"Which things?" she asked, puzzled, even as she looked straight at them. Talk about hiding in plain sight.

Harry rolled his eyes, it was true that he had gotten used to Sherlock, who was the most observant person in all of Britain, but surely Hermione wasn't that oblivious. After all, it was very hard to miss the weird black creatures pulling the school carriages that he knew from previous experience were perfectly capable of driving on their own.

"The black animals harnessed to the school carriages." He answered patiently.

"Harry? What animals? The carriages are pulling themselves, just like they do every year."

If she wasn't Hermione, Harry would have thought she was playing a prank on him, but Hermione  _never_  pulled pranks. Harry was just starting to get worried, when Luna spoke up:

"Don't worry Harry, I can see them too, you're just as sane as I am."

Harry suppressed a laugh- being as sane as Luna didn't seem like a great reassurance.

"What do you see?" he asked her. If they saw the same thing it couldn't be just a figment of his imagination.

"They look like horses that are black all over, only they have wings. And their pupils are white."

Harry slumped with relief, he wasn't just imagining things. After all, what were the chances that he and Luna were sharing the same delusion?

"Wait a second," said Hermione "that description sounds really familiar to me… I know! Thestrals!"

"Oh, of course! Thestrals!" exclaimed Ron sarcastically, "Now Harry and Luna having delusions makes perfect sense! Thestrals!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Thestrals are magical creatures that can only be seen by people who have witnessed death, Ron, you should really-" but she suddenly cut herself off, looking at Harry, horrified by her lack of tact. Ron turned to face him too, both looking as though they expected him to have a sudden breakdown.

Desperate to turn the attention away from himself, and feeling slightly annoyed that Ron and Hermione viewed him as so fragile, Harry quickly turned to Luna.

"Who did you see die? If it's not too personal, I mean."

Luna shook her head and closed her eyes slowly. "No, it's okay. It was my mother. She was quite a brilliant witch, you see, but she did like to experiment with different kinds of magic. One day, one of the experiments got out of hand. It was quite awful."

Hermione looked horrified, and Harry himself felt the guilt gnawing at him for asking Luna such a sensitive question. Even Ron, the least tactful person in the universe looked uncomfortable.

Luna's wide grey eyes opened again and stared at them, "It's okay, though, she's in Splingdig Sponpog now, what most people ignorantly call heaven, Daddy and I will join her there someday." And with that, she calmly stepped onto the carriage, and after exchanging confused looks, Harry, Ron and Hermione followed her.

The conversation soon turned to a lighter subject- speculation on why Hagrid was missing, but Harry couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that the Thestral conversation has awakened in him.

The only people who could see Thestrals were those who had seen death. The reason he could see them, was that he'd seen Cedric Diggory die. By Tom- Voldemort's hand. What was he doing siding with the man who had killed an innocent friendly kid?

Had he made a terrible mistake?

This disturbing thought followed him all through the sorting, and the feast in the great hall, until he was finally distracted by the announcement about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

It was that ghastly woman who had been in his trial. The one with a face like a toad.

Harry would normally never judge a person by their looks or make fun of them, especially considering that he himself wasn't much of a prize to look at. In this case, though, he felt justified for hating her ugly face because from what he had seen, her inside matched her outside.

She had looked so disappointed when it had turned out that Harry had been telling the truth. When Harry had been fed the antidote to the Veritaserum during the second trial, the first thing he noticed once the strange haze had lifted from his mind, was that toady face glaring at him fiercely.

From the obvious disappointment on her face as the outcome of the trial was declared, it was evident that she had hoped Harry would be expelled. What kind of person hoped a fifteen year old kid would turn out to be guilty of a crime and lose his magic forever?

Her hideous pink sweater didn't make it any harder to hate her.

He zoned off when she started speaking, he could tell from the first sentence that it was what Vernon liked to call 'politician crap'- saying a whole lot of things that sounded meaningful and meant nothing.

When the speech was done, Hermione, in a very long-suffering voice, explained that what had sounded to Harry and Ron like complete nonsense, was actually a covert declaration that the ministry was planning on interfering with Hogwarts.

"Well, that's not necessarily a bad thing," said Harry, suddenly optimistic, "maybe they'll fire Binns, or decide that Divination is a rubbish subject and cancel it."

Hermione snorted, "You could drop divination and pick up a better elective any time you like. Anyways Harry, you've gotten a glimpse these past few months of the way the ministry operates. You've seen how incompetent they are. Do you really think any changes they'll make to the school will be good?"

Harry deflated again. It was true. There was no chance of him liking anything that awful woman would come up with. For a moment, he wondered where his sudden and intense hatred towards her came from, he had met enough nasty people in his life to be completely unfazed by them normally. It must be a reflection of how she felt for him.

He looked up at the staff table again, just in time to see Dumbledore leaving the room. As he swept through the doors, Harry caught a glimpse of black- was that his arm? What had happened to it?

He was about to mention this to Ron and Hermione when he was interrupted by the sound of Professor McGonagall calling out his name while rushing towards him.

She bumped into a first year on her way towards him, and turned to apologize, but the first year squeaked in fright and darted out of sight. Harry stared after him, puzzled. He had also been nervous during his first night at Hogwarts, but he had never been so intimidated by Professor McGonagall that he had run away from her in shyness. Then again, Harry had been a tougher first year than most. By the time he was 5 years old, the only grownups he found truly intimidating anymore had been Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge. Until he had first seen Hagrid, that is.

"Potter!" cried the professor as she reached him, "I've been sent with a message from the headmaster, you are to come visit his office immediately."

Harry's first feeling was relief. Maybe the headmaster was now going to explain why he had ignored him so thoroughly during his trial, maybe he would offer him support and advice, both of them being victims of the media's slander?

A second later, though, he remembered what had occurred over the summer. Merlin! Being back in the familiar surroundings of Hogwarts had almost made him forget the changes that had happened.

He shouldn't be happy to see the headmaster, he should be nervous. He had, after all betrayed his cause. Anyways, he was just Harry's headmaster, and Harry should know better than to be so dependent on some adult he really didn't know all that well. Especially an adult who had spied on him this past summer and so must have known how he was being treated, and still, had allowed it to continue.

Harry squared his shoulders and turned to McGonagall, "I'll be there in a minute, then, Professor."

"Very good, Potter." She replied, then, her eyes softened and she added quietly "And I must say I am exceptionally glad to see you here today, I was very worried about the trial, but it was quite the clever move you pulled with the Veritaserum." The corners of her eyes crinkled in a brief smile, "Severus was furious when he found out. I suspect he feels a bit betrayed by his own craft for providing you with the means to win the trial." The grin was gone as fast as it had come, and she added in a louder voice, "Good night, Potter."

The shock of seeing McGonagall smile threw Harry for a couple of seconds, but then he collected himself and grinned back.

* * *

"Ah, Harry." Beamed Dumbledore as Harry stepped into the office. Harry forced himself to smile back even as he suppressed an urge to clench his fists. Not only for the huge injustices of this past summer, but also because he hadn't been told the password and had just spent the last 20 minutes shouting candy types at a gargoyle.

"You've caused us quite a bit of trouble, my boy." Smiled Dumbledore tiredly. Harry deflated slightly, and tried to squash a twinge of guilt.

"Us, sir?"

"Yes, Harry. Us. Arthur informed me that during the day he took you to your trial at the ministry he had a chance to explain about a little group called the Order of the Phoenix. As a group concerned with fighting Voldemort, you are a very important priority of ours."

Harry chuckled nervously and felt his guilt intensify. He was feeling slightly nauseous.

"Sorry for causing you trouble, sir. I'm really very thankful that you wanted to protect me, but I was perfectly safe where I was. I mean,  _you_  couldn't find me, and you know me much better than Voldemort, if you aren't able to guess where I was, his chances are pretty small."

Dumbledore sighed, "It's a logical argument, Harry, but I feel very uncomfortable with it. Why take a risk when we had a perfectly suitable safe house for you? One where you could have spent time with your loyal friends Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley and with Sirius as well?"

Harry felt slightly sorry that he had let a chance to see Sirius pass by, but he wouldn't trade the month he spent with Sherlock for anything in the world.

"Look, Sir. I'm sorry for making everyone worry, I really am. But I had personal reasons for not wanting to join them all in Sirius' house. It was important to me."

Dumbledore wasn't convinced "More important than your life?"

"I didn't come to you  _because_  my life is important to me. I refuse to stop living, to put my life on hold because of safety issues. What's the point of being alive if your life's empty? If you're not really living? I truly am sorry for any worry I might have caused my friends, but I am completely at peace with my decision."

There was that disapproving stare again. The one that made Harry want the ground to open up and swallow him in shame. Apparently, though, Dumbledore had given up on the argument, because he let the subject rest.

"Let's let that subject lie for a while. Though I can't say I approve of your decision, we have more important matters to discuss. I didn't call you up here just to discuss your absence this summer."

Dumbledore sighed, "In your first year at Hogwarts, while lying in the hospital wing after saving the Philosopher's Stone you asked me something Harry. Do you remember what that was?"

Harry nodded. It was a question that had haunted him for years, and he had only found an answer to it last summer. Not that Dumbledore had any way of knowing that, "I asked you why Voldemort came after me in the first place."

"The time has come for me to answer your question Harry. I should have told you at the end of last year, when you returned from the graveyard clutching the Triwizard cup in one hand, and Cedric Diggory's body in the other. I decided against it though. The trauma was still so fresh in your mind, and I was reluctant to burden you with such a heavy weight when you already had so much to bear on your young shoulders,

"It cannot be delayed anymore, though, Harry. The time has come for you to know. You  _must_ know, because time is running short." Dumbledore glanced briefly at his hand before turning back to Harry, "I'm so very sorry to burden you with this information, Harry, but I fear that there is no choice."

Harry nodded for him to continue.

"Just a little bit over 15 years ago, I was conducting a job interview at the Hogshead. One Miss Sybil Trelawney had applied for a job as a Divination professor. Now, I've always been a bit, ahem, skeptical, shall we say, about that certain area of magic, but I thought it would do no harm to allow the young woman a chance to prove herself.

I was in the midst of the interview, and knowing Professor Trelawney I'm sure you can guess what my impression was, when something most curious happened. Do you remember when you told me of the prophecy she had made the night Peter Pettigrew escaped and I told you that was her second genuine prophecy?"

Harry nodded, and then pretended to widen his eyes in sudden understanding "She made her first real prophecy then? Is that why you hired her, Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit, and nodded.

Harry frowned, "But I still don't understand what that has to do with Voldemort going after me." he said, feigning confusion. He peeked up at Dumbledore through his bangs, was he overdoing it? After a look at Dumbledore's face he concluded that he was fine, the headmaster was buying it.

"Maybe you'll understand once you hear the prophecy." Smiled Dumbledore gently. He touched his wand to his temple, and withdrew from his head a silvery thread that Harry recognized as a memory. Slowly lowering it into the pensieve, which Harry just noticed had been left out, Dumbledore spoke.

"The memory you are about to see, Harry, is my memory of dear Sybil going into a trance and reciting the prophecy. If you have any questions once you have watched it, I would be delighted to answer you."

He gave the pensieve a prod with his wand, and a familiar figure, draped in shawls, rose out of the pensieve, rotating slightly.

Harry had already seen the prophecy play out once, but he still watched the figure, transfixed, until it sunk back into the stone bowl.

How should he play this? He wondered. He didn't think he was good enough to feign a panic attack. Calm acceptance, then? He had always been remarkably levelheaded in the face of danger or trauma, it wouldn't be too unbelievable.

He sat silently for a few moments, Dumbledore let him sit there quietly, obviously intending to let him process what he had just heard.

Finally, Harry spoke "Does this mean that I have to kill him or else he'll kill me?"

Dumbledore sighed "I'm afraid so, my boy. I am so very sorry to burden you with such a heavy weight. A boy of your age should not have to face this kind of knowledge."

Harry shook his head "There's no point in me complaining about it now. I didn't start bemoaning my fate back in first year, when I found out Voldemort was still alive and wanted to kill me, and I won't start breaking down now."

"That's the spirit, Harry!" encouraged Dumbledore "I admire you for your courage. In fact, I have to say I'm a little surprised by how well you're taking this."

Harry contemplated that for a while "I guess" he said slowly "that I always knew I'd have to face him one day. It always felt inevitable, because I knew he'd never rest until he killed me personally."

"You are a very intelligent and brave young man" praised Dumbledore "many in your shoes would have tried to flee from the responsibility." And me not fleeing from the prospect of facing the most powerful wizard in the world makes me intelligent? Wondered Harry. He said nothing though.

Dumbledore smiled gently at him before continuing. "Now that you know, Harry, it's more important for me than ever to prepare you for your final confrontation with Voldemort. The more you prepare for the final confrontation with him, the higher the chances that you will escape the encounter alive.

For this reason, I have taken it upon myself to help you to the best of my ability. We shall be having private lessons this year, in which I will endeavor to make the chances of you killing Voldemort as high as possible.

I will send you a note in the next few weeks, scheduling a date for our first lesson. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded, feeling relieved that the meeting was coming to an end. He was exhausted from his long day, and all he wanted was to curl up in his warm four-poster and talk to Sherlock.

"Goodnight Harry." Said Dumbledore gently, and Harry nodded solemnly and repeated the sentiment.

As he exited the office and closed the door behind him, he felt his shoulders slump as he sighed with relief. He hadn't given himself away, he hadn't gotten caught.

Still, he felt tense and nervous. Wheat had seemed so easy and effortless back in the muggle world now seemed almost impossible.

He was a different person when he was in school. He wasn't used to keeping things from Dumbledore, to be bad when he was at Hogwarts. Sneakiness and lies belonged to the Dursley Harry, not the Hogwarts one.

Well, there was no going back now. And he didn't regret his decision either. Harry straightened his shoulders and continued walking towards Gryffindor tower, his strides determined and confident.


	10. Chapter 9

Tom was bored. He sighed, and threw 'Secrets of the Vilest and Darkest Magics' on the floor, huffing in frustration. The title had seemed promising at first: even if it didn't hold the information he was looking for, it was sure to have some nasty but oh-so-interesting spells and rituals.

The book was a dud, though. Not only did it have no information on how to move Horcruxes from one vessel to another, it was written by an idiot author who thought that the 'Bat Bogey Hex' was considered a vile and dark magic. The most harmful spell in the book was 'Obliviate'.

Tom picked the book up and turned it over to check for the name of the idiot who had written it.  _Gilderoy Lockhart._ Hm….didn't sound familiar.

Tom sighed despondently. As Sherlock Holmes had kindly pointed out in their meeting a few weeks ago, he went through uncontrollable periods of insanity, which he could really not afford to have.

The plan was to reabsorb all but one of his Horcruxes. Many calculations and much research into the more obscure magic had left him with one conclusion. The reason he still suffered from insanity occasionally despite the changes he had made to the Horcrux ritual that were supposed to negate that side-effect was that it would only work for one Horcrux. Tearing the soul more than once destabilized his soul so much that his safeguard against insanity was rendered unreliable.

The solution was to reabsorb all but one Horcrux, though that was a big security risk. If that one Horcrux was destroyed, Tom would be mortal once more. Because of that, it was very important that the Horcrux never be discovered.

He was foolish, the first time around, placing his soul into object that held significance to him, anyone who knew him well enough would eventually be able to guess what they were. This time, he would make his Horcrux something impossible to ever find. Like a grain of sand. He could place that grain of sand on the beach, and no one would ever be able to find the Horcrux, not in a million years. The chances of it ever being destroyed so miniscule that it was ridiculous to worry about it.

Now, the only question that remained was how to do it? Tom refused to reabsorb any of his Horcruxes until he knew that his last Horcrux was as safe as it could be.

Unfortunately, he could find no books with any information about transferring Horcruxes from one vessel to another.

He had one last place he planned to look for answers in, but if he didn't manage to find them there, he'd have to figure it out for himself.

His gaze drifted again to the small shelf by his bed. It had a couple of muggle novels on it and some good books on the Dark Arts, but he had already read them all. Some of them even twice. His gaze drifted to the piece of parchment perched innocently at the edge of the nightstand, the closest to the bed. He wouldn't even have to sit up from his slouched position to reach it.

Tom refused to consider the fact that he had moved the rolls of parchment that depicted his conversations with Harry and Sherlock, and their conversations with each other from his office to his bedroom.

True, his bedroom was a more personal setting, but that didn't mean that the communications between him and the pair would be any more personal, he just had the parchment there for the sake of convenience.

Tom tried to ignore the twist in his chest when he thought of the pair. Goddamit! How embarrassing was it that the most powerful Dark Lord in the world, one who's name most people feared to speak, was jealous of two teenagers?

As much as he tried to ignore the feeling though, he was. There was a downside to being one of if not the most feared person in the world, and that was the loneliness.

It didn't bother him much usually, he was used to being lonely, he had never had a true friend in his life, but once in a while he's catch a glimpse of what he was missing and envision a different life for himself: one where he would enter the room and be received with a smile instead of with fear.

The jealousy was especially acute in Harry and Sherlock's instance, because they treated him like he was a normal person, even a friend, highlighting the relationship he would never have.

Still, despite the embarrassing and unpleasant emotion the thought of Harry and Sherlock's friendship brought up in him, here he was, checking the parchment for the third time today to see if there was anything written on it.

Finally there was something there.

_Harry? Harry, it's Sherlock. What's taking you so damn long? You promised to write the second you got the chance!_

Tom waited for an answer from Harry, but none was forthcoming. After a couple of minutes with no response, Tom reluctantly returned to his book, only to throw it down in frustration again a few minutes later.

There was only one way this Gilderoy Lockhart had managed to slay a werewolf, and that was boring it to death, prattling on about his favorite hair gel.

Thankfully, his eye caught movement, and he smiled as black lines started forming on the parchment, and Harry finally answered Sherlock.

_Shit, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting, Sherlock. After dinner Dumbledore called me to his office to talk, and that took a really long time. But you'll never guess what he wanted to talk to me about!_

_What did that slimy bastard want?_

_Sherlock! Don't talk about him like that. He may have made some mistakes, but he's a good man_

_._

_Harry, he had people watching you all summer to 'protect' you, yet he didn't seem to know you'd been locked into your room with almost no food and water for four days straight. Either he lied, which makes him a cruel bastard, or he really didn't know which makes him extremely idiotic not to mention criminally negligent. Same goes for the people who worked for him- the ones that spied on you. You should try to find out who they are._

_How will I find that out? I have nothing to go on!_

_Oh, I wouldn't say that. For one thing_

_No, no, no, forget it. I know that you can figure it out if you want to, and you can explain to me later. We're getting off track. I was about to tell you what he wanted to tell me._

_Oh?_

_He told me about the prophecy. The one we already heard this summer._

_That's mildly interesting at best. What's so surprising about the fact that he decided to reveal that prophecy to you? It would just encourage you in your fight against Voldemort, thus serving his purpose. Did he say why he didn't tell you before now? That would give us some insight into his way of thinking._

_He said I was too young to be burdened with such a weight. He said he wanted me to be able to enjoy my childhood while I still could._

_Oh, dear god. Either the man is terminally stupid or he's a manipulating and lying bastard. If I gave you a list right here of all the things he could have done to make sure you had a happy childhood but never did, I'd take up this whole parchment. Did you tell him to shut his face?_

_No, I nodded in understanding and listened to what he had to say._

_You were probably right in doing that, don't let him get suspicious of you._

_Is it really that impossible that he's just a nice old man whose only mistake is believing that an aunt and uncle will take good care of there nephew? Maybe he really meant it, Sherlock!_

_That argument has absolutely no legs and you know it! This summer you were right alongside me- angry at Dumbledore and wisely cautious of his motives. What could have happened to change your mind? Option one: he put some kind of mind-altering curse on you. Possible, but unlikely._

_What probably happened is just you succumbing to peer pressure. All the hours I spent trying to teach you some common sense, all my work, comes crashing down after a few hours with some idiotic kids who think Dumbledore is the best thing since chocolate._

Tom snorted.

_It's not that! It's just, being back in school reminded me of Cedric Diggory. Maybe you remember me telling you about him? The innocent 17-year-old kid who got murdered just because he happened to be in the way? He was murdered on Voldemort's orders!_

_Ahhh, emotions. I knew the tricky things would trip you up eventually. Guilt, right? That's the one you're experiencing now? You feel guilty for siding with the person who killed your parents. Your guilt is made worse by the fact that not only did you side with him, you also after meeting him that you genuinely liked him, that makes you feel like you've betrayed your parent's memories. A stupid feeling, considering they are dead and no longer know or care what you do._

_Tell me this- how guilty would you feel for murdering Tom? Not Voldemort, Tom. The man who happily made a truce with you, ate a half of your granola bar and honesty didn't intend to do any of the awful things his alter-ego did in uncontrolled moments of insanity? Because Dumbledore and his people expect you to kill him, and don't tell me that wouldn't make you feel guilty!_

Tom waited curiously to read the answer, snickering slightly at the thought of how they would react if they knew he was eavesdropping on their conversation. There was a small part of him that may or may not have been quite touched by Sherlock's defense, but he firmly ignored it.

Reading Harry's response widened his grin.

_You miserable bastard! I know for a fact that the situation is much more complicated and convoluted and much less black and white than the highly skewed version of reality you gave me right now, but somehow I still find myself convinced by your argument. You're lucky you're my best friend you manipulative sod, and that you're so smart I'll always end up listening to you in the end._

_It wasn't like I was going to back out of our agreement in any case, I just needed you to help me remember why I made it in the first place. I couldn't back out even if I wanted to, the unbreakable vow, remember? Don't answer that- Of course you remember, you're you._

_You_ knew _I wouldn't back out of the deal- that I couldn't, so all of this was just to make me feel better, wasn't it?_

 _Of course_   _it was. You know, you might want to be careful about what you say to me here in the future, Tom can read what we're writing here._

Tom nearly fell off his bed. How could Sherlock possibly know? It's true that there was a spell for detecting how many objects the Protean charm was cast on, and had Sherlock used it he would have seen that the particular charm on his parchment connected it to two more, but Sherlock was a muggle! He didn't even know that spell, and even if he did he could never use it!

It was probably just speculation on his part; Tom would not do anything to confirm Sherlock's suspicions. He squashed down his first impulse which was to write down a message asking Sherlock how he could have possibly known- that would do no good.

Instead, he waited to see what would happen next. Harry's reaction didn't take long to come.

_What? What do you mean he can read everything we're writing? How do you know? And why the hell didn't you say so earlier?_

_It slipped my mind…. As for how I knew, it was obvious, look at the bottom of your piece of parchment. Where Tom wrote 'Don't forget you owe me', it's smudged._

_So?_

_So that means there was another piece of parchment that was put on top of it. Right after he wrote the sentence he must have stacked the parchments, smudging the writing._

_I still don't know where you're going with this…._

_Now look at the back of your parchment- there's black smudges there, like someone put a parchment with wet ink under it, causing your parchment to smudge it. Which basically means that my parchment was under yours when he stacked them, so what was the parchment that was on top of yours and smudged your writing? He obviously put the Protean Charm on three pieces of parchment, and kept the third one to himself as a means to spy on you._

_You got all that from a couple of smudges?_

_Well, that and the fact that I was expecting him to do something like that. You're still a potential security risk, he'd be a fool if he didn't try to spy on you._

_Sonofabitch!_

_Don't be a drama queen, Harry, relax._

Well, there went his cover. Tom sighed and put his enchanted parchment away for the time being. He'd deal with the situation of Sherlock and Harry later.

As he turned out the lights in his room, he threw one last glare at the handsome man on the utterly useless Lockhart book. Tomorrow, he'd set out to the once last place in which he might still be able to find answers to his horcrux problem.

* * *

Harry rubbed his temples tiredly, and tried desperately to will his awful headache away, cursing school, Mondays, and most of all- Dolores Umbridge.

The day had started out normally- it was a miserable day, but routine enough as far as first days back went. Binns bored them all into a stupor within the first ten minutes of class, Snape was vindictive and unfair, and a seemed a bit perturbed that Harry was too used to this treatment to care anymore and Trelawney made a tragic prediction to which Harry responded by yawning.

It was Professor Umbridge's class, though, that had finally managed to make him lose his cool and earn himself detentions every evening for the next week.

He had entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom along with Ron and Hermione to find Professor Umbridge sitting at her desk wearing the fluffy pink cardigan he had seen the night before. He quickly took a seat at the very back of the classroom, as far away from the Professor as he could get, Ron and Hermione following his lead.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said, when finally the whole class had arrived.

A few people mumbled "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

Harry felt his face heating, but obediently answered "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge" with the rest of the class, feeling ridiculously like a five-year-old.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge with saccharine sweetness "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please." This order was, of course, followed by an exchange of gloomy looks between the students. Everyone knew that practical lessons were much more fun than the theoretical ones were.

As the class scrambled to put away their wands and take out their writing equipment, Professor Umbridge bent down to her own bag and extracted an unusually short wand. She tapped the blackboard, and as words began to appear on it ( _Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles_ ), she began to speak:

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry‐approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'.

. _Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic._ _  
_. _Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._ _  
_. _Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

Oh dear. Harry could practically feel his eyelids get heavier and heavier just reading the course aims. This did not bode well for his OWL grade in Defense.

He consoled himself with the thought that there was also a practical part to the Defense Owl. They'd need to have a practical lesson at some point, and those, at least, were never boring.

With that slightly cheerful thought in mind, Harry opened his new Defense book and started to read the first chapter. A paragraph in, and Harry resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to maintain his concentration long enough to read the whole chapter.

Relaxing back into his seat, Harry let his eyes wander, only to sit up in surprise at the sight of Hermione, at her desk, book closed, and hand raised in the air. Considering Harry had never seen Hermione disobey a teacher's order, especially if it involved reading a book, Harry found this very curious. And quite a bit more interesting than Wilbert Slinkhard's dull book.

He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, in a voice sweeter than honey. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, a slight strain of annoyance now detectable in her voice.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little giggle. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.‐?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him.

Harry gritted his teeth, the woman was being deliberately obtuse and condescending. Should he interfere in the argument?

Harry thought he could guess what this argument was really about- Umbridge was on Fudge's side, and was trying to stress the point that Voldemort was not back by pretending to not realize why the students would need to defend themselves.

When discussing strategy back in Malfoy Manor, Tom had said that though it was better for him if as few people as possible knew about his return, Harry should be honest about what had really happened after the third task, as suddenly denying the Dark Lord's return would just arouse Dumbledore's suspicions.

On the other hand, though, Harry had gotten the sense that Umbridge was very loyal to Fudge, and therefore wanted to hear nothing about Voldemort being back. If he started talking about how important learning Defense was because of Voldemort's return, he would just be stoking her ire. Was it really wise to pick a fight?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione raise her hand again. The look on her face was one of pure determination, and Harry knew it well. It was the same expression she wore when talking about house-elves: a dogged determination to right the injustice she saw in front of her.

Harry sighed, and raised his hand too, in loyalty to his friend.

Umbridge's smirk turned ugly as she turned to face Harry. "Yes, dear? Do you have a question?"

Harry gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his tone level and polite. "Isn't the whole point of learning Defense Against the Dark Arts to be able to defend yourself against the dark arts in the real world?"

Umbridge's voice took on a condescending tone "There in nothing, I repeat  _nothing_  to defend yourself from in the real world. The spells you learn in this class are used by the precious few in our society who become Aurors. The rest of you have no need to worry about these things in your everyday life."

Her eyes took on a challenging gleam, and Harry recognized this for what it was: a trap. She  _wanted_ him to speak up against her. She wanted Harry to give her an excuse to punish him so she could show everyone what happened to those who spoke against the ministry and spread undesirable stories. It was a trap, and he knew it, and he was still going to walk right into it. Because despite the fact that he had finally learned to value his life and self-preservation, he couldn't ignore injustice when it was staring him straight in the face.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was meant to help prepare students for all the bad things out there. It's purpose was to allow these children, his friends, who had never really experienced any real evil, to be able to walk the wizarding world with confidence, free of fear, with the knowledge that they were able to protect themselves. This teacher didn't care about that, though, she was misusing her power as a teacher to gain political leverage or whatever else it was she hoped to achieve by preventing students from learning to defend themselves, and Harry couldn't stand it.

So Harry took a big breath and spoke his mind. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are there for a reason, and being able to defend yourself is a right every student should have. Not to mention Voldemort! Did the ministry even make any inquiries about whether or not I was speaking the truth last summer, or did you just straight away assume that I must be lying because it was more convenient? Because if you're denying us the right to learn to defend ourselves just because you're scared of facing the truth, that's…. well…. It's just plain despicable is what it is!"

It wasn't the most articulate speech ever made, but it was certainly enough to turn Umbridge's face red with rage.

"Detention Potter! Every evening this week at seven, starting tonight! Now get out of my sight!" Her face was twisted with rage and hatred, but there was an odd sense of smugness and triumph when she announced his detention.

Harry sent her his most venomous look before grabbing his books and leaving the class.

Five minutes later, back in the common room, he cursed himself softly for letting his emotions get the better of him. He lay in the cushy chair in front of the fire, moping, till Ron and Hermione came back from the lesson.

The hug Hermione gave him upon returning, though, cheered him up slightly, and he was smiling as he headed upstairs to see if he had a message from Sherlock.

* * *

Tom wiped the sweat off his face, and unbuttoned another button in his shirt. He had removed his robes long ago, after they had had a hole the size of a dinner plate seared through them during his fight with the army of fire-breathing tarantulas. Merlin knows how the crazy old man had managed to breed those. Now he was only wearing a pair of dark pants, and a half-opened button down shirt that was quickly becoming stained by his sweat.

Tom was currently in the building that contained the biggest and most extensive library of magical books in the whole world. It contained the rarest of books, including those that had been banned for years because of the dark magic described in them. If there was anywhere Tom was to find an answer to his horcrux problem, this was it.

Unfortunately, the man who had created the library, a compulsive-obsessive hermit who's only love in life was books, had died some 80 years ago. In his will, he wrote that he refused to pass his precious library on to anyone else, in the fear that they might not treat his books right, and so, was protecting his library with so many protective enchantments that no wizard would ever be able to break through them and gain access to his library.

Obviously Tom was no ordinary wizard, but even he found himself challenged to the very extent of his wits during his struggle the last couple of hours to get through all the enchantments.

He had been forced to remember dark and obscure magics that had long since been forgotten by most of the world, he had been forced to shed his blood numerous times in order to complete rituals that would nullify the powerful wards the bloody wizard had put at every turn, and he had just had to fight about two dozen fire-breathing giant tarantulas that should by all rights have been long dead after 80 years stuck under that bloody trapdoor.

Tom completed the last incantation to the long and complicated spell that would undo the severe locking charm on the next door he faced.

Finally, the door made a clicking noise as it unlocked, and Tom cautiously pushed the door open, wand at the ready for the next thing that was surely poised to attack him the second he entered the room.

To his surprise, the room seemed empty. He edged into it slowly, wand at the ready, and slowly advanced to a table in the center of the room.

To his surprise, there was a piece of parchment lying there, looking innocent. Tom leaned over it carefully to read what it said.

_Greetings!_

_To you, dear person, who has made it this far._

_This letter may have come as a surprise to you, since I know I have left the impression in my will that I do not wish anyone to ever enter this library again. That was a lie on my part. What good would my lovely books be if they sat around gathering dust til the end of time? Books were meant to be read._

_I didn't want just anyone to read my books though. I didn't want this library to fall into the hands of someone who would only find value in my books by selling them, or worse, for it to fall into the hands of the government!_

_So I designed a series of tests and obstacles, meant to deter anyone who was unworthy of my library. You have had to use many ancient and obscure spells during your quest here, spells you could only have known if you had traveled to the ends of the earth in search of such knowledge. Only a person who loves reading and knowledge as much as I do, would know such spells. In such a way, I have insured that only someone of whom I approve would inherit my library after my death._

_You have only one more test you must pass in order to gain access to my library. Quite an easy test too. Up until now, you have been tested on your knowledge of magic. This last test is a test of your knowledge of muggle literature. You see, I can't stand the thought that my library will fall into the hands of some bigoted pureblood who would throw away half of my books simply because they are muggle. All my first editions that I have worked on collecting for years and years!_

_So, I will ask you one very simple question. If you are even vaguely familiar with muggle literature, the question will pose no challenge to you. The door to the library is password-activated, so utter the answer to this question out loud, and the door will open._

_I warn you, if you utter the wrong answer, you won't like the consequences- I happen to be muggle-born, and I loathe close-minded, elitist purebloods._

_The password is the name of Juliet's lover in the famous Shakespearian play. Anyone with even an ounce of respect towards muggle literature should know the answer._

_Good luck!_

Oh dear.

He didn't know the answer to that one.

He didn't want to turn back.

He really really didn't want to turn back after all this effort.

Well, there was a solution- he had the piece of parchment that was connected to Sherlock and Harry's parchments in a shrunken bag that he had hung around his waist. Originally, he had brought it so that if his quest to break into the library took longer than expected, he could give Harry instructions to pass on to his followers. It seemed, though, that it wasn't Harry, but rather Sherlock that he would be contacting.

* * *

Sherlock entered his room in a huff, and dumped the huge and heavy box he was carrying on his bed. He had spent the past hour and a half collecting different poisonous mushrooms from Mrs. Two-Doors-Down's huge greenhouse. Now was time for the fun part- the experiments.

Suddenly, his ever-observant eye caught a movement from across the room. A closer look revealed that it was black ink which was snaking across the page that was magically connected to Harry's and Tom's.

_Sherlock? Are you there? It's Tom. I need your help ASAP. In the famous Shakespearian play, what was the name of Juliet's lover?_

Oh dear, trivia? If he ever had known he must have long since deleted it. Still, it seemed important to Tom, so he made his way over to the computer downstairs, and typed in 'Shakespeare, Juliet'.

Clicking on the first option (Wikipedia) and scrolled down to 'Synopsis'. Ah! There it was: "Count Paris talks to Capulet about marrying his daughter". Hurrying upstairs he scribbled the answer to Tom, along with an enquiry about why he needed the information, and was about to return to his poisons when he saw familiarly messy handwriting appear on the paper.

_Sherlock, you knob, I've never read Shakespeare in my life, and even I know that Juliet's lover was Romeo, they're the most famous couple in the world! Of course, you not knowing such basic things is already old news, what I'm more interested in is why Tom needs to know. Are you participating in a pub quiz? Tom?_

There was a long pause, and Sherlock almost thought that Tom had gone away when the handwriting returned. Shaky, this time, and much less elegant.

_I need your help. The answer to the question I asked you was the password to a room I was trying to get into. Saying the wrong password must have activated some sort of trap, because the walls started closing in on me. I was nearly crushed into a pulp, but managed to erect a shield that keeps out all physical objects within a certain radius, but I'm stuck in a ridiculously small hole with no food or water._

The answer from Harry was instantaneous.

_What can I do?_

_You need to come break me out, my position is too vulnerable for me to trust my Death Eaters with this. The walls around me seem to be resistant to any blasting spells, but I know of a ritual that can turn them into dust. Unfortunately, I don't have room in here to conduct the ritual properly. You need to come and do it for me. Most of the magic will be way over your head, but I'll talk you through it._

_The place I'm at is a rather large house that's on the outskirts of a town called Guilford, and it's rather isolated, so you don't need to worry about appearing through magical transport. The address is 713, Loneman's Lane. Contact me when you get there and I'll give you further instruction. Thanks, Harry, I owe you!_

Well, to hell with that! Harry was skipping school to gallivant off in the muggle world and he wouldn't be a part of it? No way! Finally, Sherlock was involved in something interesting! He ran downstairs, grabbed the car keys off the counter, and stopping only to take a brief glance at the map in the glove compartment, sped off.


	11. Chapter 10

_Thanks, Harry, I owe you!_

Tom grimaced as he put down his quill. How humiliating, needing to ask Harry for help! Well, it was far better than asking any of his Death Eaters, Tom cringed at the thought.

Sighing, he put the roll of parchment down, and leaned his head against the cold stone wall in back of him. He was thankful that he had managed to cast the spell designed to keep all physical objects out before the walls closing in on him had crushed him to death, but he couldn't help thinking that if only he had cast the spell a few seconds sooner, before the ceiling had descended so low, he would have been able to stand instead of sitting in such a cramped style. And he was liable to have to keep this position for a couple of hours to come.

Even after Harry came to this place, he wouldn't be able to just break the walls down with a 'Bombarda'. These walls were under very heavy enchantments, and resistant to almost any magic. He'd have to talk a fifth-year student through a highly complex magical ritual, and it would probably take quite a long time.

He couldn't even call his house-elf, because the old wizard who used to own the house had set up not only anti-apparition and anti-portkey charms, he had also set up charms that prevented house-elves from popping in. It was quite a shame, as most wizards always forgot to put up those types of charms, house-elves were easy to overlook.

Come to think of it, had he put up anti-house-elf charms around the traps on his Horcruxes? He probably had, he would be foolish not to. But three of his Horcruxes had been hidden by himself in one of his periods of insanity. His insane alter-ego tended to make stupid mistakes when overcome by anger or fear. He had trusted Lucius Malfoy with one of his Horcruxes for crying out loud! He really did need to remember to get that Horcrux sometime and find somewhere safer to hide it….

Tom pulled an empty piece of parchment out of his bag, and stated writing down a list of things he needed to do, which quickly degraded to a game of tic-tac-toe with himself as he became more and more bored. Finally, after about an hour and a half of waiting, and just as Tom was slipping into sleep, his eye caught the movement of new writing being scribbled onto an empty space in the parchment.

_Okay, Tom, I'm here. At least I think I am. We're pretty sure that this is the right place, because I'm seeing a house, but Sherlock's seeing waste-management factory. Oh yeah, Sherlock's here too. He said he didn't want to miss out on an adventure if this ended up being one._

_Anyways, we need to know where in the house you are_

Tom rolled his eyes, but grinned.

Then, feeling a bit silly he cast the illusion spell that made him look like his 16-year-old self again. He was quite glad for the closed space he was in at the moment, which meant that no one witnessed how vain he was being.

Now feeling ready to be seen, he bent back over the parchment and wrote his reply.

_Sherlock might well end up getting his adventure. Who knows what booby traps the crazy old man put in here, even if you do manage to break down the wall._

_What crazy old man?_ This time, it was Sherlock's spiky handwriting.

_I'll explain later. Right now, let's get a move on, my legs are seriously cramping. Now, as far as I can guess, I'm in the northern corner of the house. So go there first thing. Tell me when you get there._

Less than a minute later, writing appeared again on the parchment _._

_We're there._

Now came the difficult part, mused Tom.

_Okay, now the next ritual depends on the angle of the sun in the sky, so I need you to measure the shadow that the wall is casting on the ground, and the angle of that shadow. Now there's a very simple spell for determining the length, I'll teach it to you in just a minute, but getting the angle is a bit more complicated. Have you learned any Arithmancy in school? Because that will really help._

_Actually, Tom,_ read the parchment in Harry's handwriting again  _before you start with all the instructions, there's just one thing I need to ask you: You have some kind of shield up that prevents any solid object from entering, right?_

_Yes, Harry_ he replied  _but that's hardly relevant now since_

That was as far a he got before an enormous crash sounded to his right, and pieces of debris started flying all around him. None, thankfully, entering through his shield.

Once the little pieces of brick stopped flying around his head, and the dust settled a bit, he looked up to see one of the weirdest pieces of machinery he had ever seen. It was yellow, and reminded him a bit of carriages in that it had wheels, but it was all the wrong shape. In addition, it had something like a huge arm with a shovel attached to the end of it. Sitting inside this vehicle were Harry and Sherlock who were both whooping with excitement.

"Man, what a rush!" cried Harry "Did you see that? Two seconds, and we decimate a building that must have taken months to build, how cool is  _that_?" he leaned out of the vehicle and looked down at Tom. "Are you okay?"

"You didn't use the ritual" muttered Tom vaguely, still a bit stunned.

Harry's gaze turned sheepish. "Yeah, well, the way you described it made it sound like hard work, and there was a house just down the road that was undergoing construction, and Sherlock saw the bulldozer… Oh, and you're going to need to cast a couple of Obliviates once this is done, by the way."

"It was resistant to all that magic, but never safeguarded against physical blows?" Tom was half incredulous at the prospect that the wizard, with all his great protections, never thought of protecting it against bulldozers, and half incredulous that he hadn't thought of trying that before resorting to magical enchantments.

"It was my idea." Said Sherlock smugly "I've observed that wizards are usually so dependent on their magic, that they will usually only look for the magical solution to things, without once thinking about muggle means that are just as useful. It's an inherent flaw in all of you. My theory is that your lack of common sense is genetic, and it's nature's way of not giving you too much of an edge against muggles."

Tom wasn't sure if Sherlock seriously meant that or was only taunting him, but he nodded seriously, and tried to stand up, only to fall back down with a yelp at the pins and needles running through his legs. Sherlock snickered, and Harry elbowed him, and went down to help Tom, but Tom noticed his lips twitching as well.

He scowled at them both. "It's your fault my legs are like this, do you know how long they've been cramped up? What took you so long?"

"Well," answered Harry "First I needed to figure out a damn spell that would make my face looked different, since after all the articles last year, I wouldn't be able to catch the Knight Bus without being recognized, wait for the hallway that has the opening to the secret passage out of school would be empty, and then I needed to sneak out of Honeydukes unseen, which is much harder when it's not packed with Hogwarts students, and then, there were about five passengers before me on the Knight Bus who needed to get off. So I think all thing considered you should be thanking me. Do you know what I endured to get here? That bus is a bloody nightmare! I have a huge bump on my head from when it jerked to a sudden stop and threw me against the window!" and he lifted his fringe to reveal a rather nasty-looking bruise forming on his forehead.

Tom rolled his eyes, but touched his wand gently to the bruise and healed it. "Why didn't you apparate?"

"I don't know how" replied Harry, scowling "I'm only fifteen."

"I can teach you" suggested Tom "It's really not that hard, and as long as you don't splinch yourself, the chances of you getting caught without a license are infinitesimal."

Harry looked excited at the suggestion, but Sherlock scowled, unhappy about being left out.

"Sorry, Sherlock" said Tom "I'd teach you too if it were possible."

Sherlock waved his hand as if to show that it didn't matter, and instead proceeded to ask Tom how he had gotten stuck in his current situation.

"Well," said Tom slowly "I suppose I can tell you two, I trust you to a certain extent, and even if you did tell anyone else, which you can't, I don't see what harm it can do. I'm looking for a way to move a Horcrux from one vessel to another."

"Horcrux?" interrupted Harry.

"That's what my safeguards against mortality are called. They're objects in which you put a bit of your soul using a certain ritual. The piece of soul links you to this world, so you don't pass on even after you die. The problem with them is that if they're destroyed, you become mortal again. Unfortunately, I put my Horcruxes in rather obvious and significant objects, and I want to move them to something innocuous and less likely to be discovered."

Harry nodded his understanding, while Sherlock impatiently prodded Tom for the rest of the story. Tom proceeded to tell them about looking for a book for answers, and finally resorting to breaking into the most well-guarded collection of books in the whole of Britain.

Sherlock questioned Tom on the different traps that Tom had had to overcome in order to reach the library, and then taken great delight in pointing out much simpler and less magical ways that would have gotten Tom through as well.

Harry was more interested in the spell Tom had used at the end, to block the walls from closing in on him. "I've never even heard of it! You think it'd be useful enough that it would be taught in Defense, but I've never seen it in any book, and I researched  _a lot_  of Defense spells last year for the Triwizard Tournament."

"I'm not at all surprised," answered Tom "it's quite a useful spell, but it does have one serious disadvantage. The second you cast the shield spell, you can't cast anymore spells without the shield falling. Since magical duels usually use spells, and this shield only blocks solid objects, this makes it rather useless in most duels.

"For these reasons, the spell fell out of practice many years ago, and it's not taught at Hogwarts. I myself learned it from an African witch doctor during my travels around the world in my twenties. He used to use the spell to keep away dangerous animals when they attacked the village." Tom cracked a smile "He was a very interesting individual. He used to live in the magical world, but left it so that he could live with this muggle tribe, where he was viewed as a god and given free reign at all their women."

Harry chuckled at that, but Tom saw Sherlock grimace in distaste.

Tom turned to look at the ruins of the manor he had just escaped, and felt his mood sink. All he could see was rubble, and beyond that, empty grey rooms. No library. The library must be ensconced in a magically guarded area, not reachable by muggle means. With the wizarding ability to manipulate space, any on of the small shards of rock in front of them could contain the whole library in it. He was never going to find it!

All that work to get to the damn library, and for nothing! And now, he was also feeling stupid after Sherlock and Harry had gotten to him so quickly, using only common sense. Maybe Sherlock was right about wizards not being able to think sensibly. It didn't matter though, decided Tom, next time he needed to get through some extremely complicated trap, he could just bring Sherlock along to think of all the easy ways to solve the problem. Speaking of which, maybe he'd be able to find a solution for this.

He turned to Sherlock who had followed his gaze, and was now staring at the ruins of the empty house contemplatively. "Any ideas on how to find the library?"

"A couple," answered Sherlock "but they're all a bit of a long shot. Let's start with the one most likely to work. Summon a gramophone, or whatever wizarding equivalent you have, and just should 'Romeo' and see if the password opens any portholes to the right room."

Tom tapped his throat and quickly cast the  _Sonorus_  spell. Feeling a bit foolish he looked out at the rubble in front of him and called out "Romeo!"

Several pieces of the rubble lying on the floor vanished, and were replaced with glimpses of a lit-up room that had lots of books in the background. Unfortunately, the big rock that had obviously held the entrance to the room had shattered and was scattered all over the ground, causing the room that was revealed to look like a jigsaw puzzle scattered on the ground, not forming a complete picture.

Tom approached the nearest piece of room he could find, and then signaled Harry and Sherlock to follow him. Once they had neared him, and they were all standing around the piece of rock through a glimpse of a bookshelf could be seen, Tom pulled out his wand, and without warning, wordlessly performed the shrinking spell on Harry and Sherlock. He then turned the wand on himself, and shrunk himself down as well.

He looked around to see Sherlock examining himself in fascination, and Harry, who's face was still blank in surprised, and then back to the opening he was facing. An opening he was now small enough to enter through.

He stepped into the lighted room, only to find himself falling sideways and landing painfully on his arm. He got up groaning, and a second later saw Harry and Sherlock fall from somewhere near the middle of the doorway down to the floor. They all laid there for a second as they caught their breaths and stopped groaning, and then finally Tom got up and cast the enlargement spell on himself and on Harry and Sherlock.

Looking around, they finally had the time to take the place in. It was  _amazing_. Tom had absolutely no trouble believing that this was the largest store of magical books in the world. Shelved upon shelves lined the walls, and the spiraling staircase in the corner indicated that this certainly wasn't the only floor in the library.

Tom loved books. True, the first thing he loved was power, and knowledge was power, but he also loved books in their own right. Every book was an opportunity to learn something new. Something exciting and interesting that he had never known before, and this library was filled with thousands and thousands of these opportunities. He felt a delighted grin spread across his face.

He turned to look at his friends. Harry was looking around him with an expression of awe, though he didn't seem nearly as delighted as Tom was, but Sherlock was looking less than impressed. "What's the name of this book you're looking for?" he prodded "In a library of this size, finding it can take quite a considerable amount of time."

"Can't you take a break from criticizing me for a second " Tom growled "to admire this amazing library? Stop raining on my Quidditch field!"

"I can't." replied Sherlock "I'm much too practical."

Harry laughed, and Tom suppressed a grin.

"Well, I don't think finding the book can be  _that_  difficult. The shelves must be divided by subject, we just need to find the right shelf and start looking through it till we find a promising title."

Harry yawned at the prospect, but agreed good-naturedly to help. Sherlock said he'd also help if he got to take home any book that he thought looked interesting. Cheered at the prospect of having company while sorting through the huge library, Tom approached the first shelf he saw, and started digging.

As Tom had expected, Harry was the first to lose patience with the task. About an hour into their search, he flopped down on the floor near the shelf next to the one Tom had been sorting through. They had lost Sherlock around twenty minutes ago to a book about the greatest wizarding criminals of the Nineteenth Century. He had sat down and begun to read, ignoring all requests from Harry and Tom that he continue to help them look.

"That's it!" said Harry "I can't go through anymore shelves, I'm tired, my neck hurts, and I feel like we've been at it for at least four hours!"

Tom glanced at his watch. "Only one hour, actually, it's half past six now."

Harry sighed. "I need to start coming up with an excuse to tell Ron and Hermione about where I've been these past hours, so I should probably head back anyways."

Suddenly, he sat up, looking very pale. "Oh god! I forgot! I have detention with Umbridge tonight at seven! I'll never get there in time, I'm screwed!"

Tom's lips twitched "Detention? On the first day of school? What did you do?"

Harry groaned "Shouted at her. Don't look at me like that, you'd shout at her too if you'd been there. God, she's despicable."

Tom raised his eyebrows.

"Don't ask." Replied Harry to his unspoken question "If you ever meet her, you'll understand what I mean."

"Well," said Tom "I can apparate you back to Hogsmeade, that'll save you time. You might even get to the detention in time if we leave right now. Come!"

Harry looked back "I should probably go tell Sherlock."

"You don't really have the time." replied Tom "You'll barely make it as it is. Sherlock's too absorbed in his book to notice you're gone, I'll go back and explain to him once I'm through."

Harry shook his head "I won't be seeing him again till Christmas break, I'll just say goodbye really quickly."

Tom rolled his eyes, but went back with Harry to call Sherlock and explain that they needed to leave.

It really was sweet, how close they were, mused Tom, watching them hug, even as he mimed tapping his watch at Harry, telling him that his time was running out.

Exiting the library was a disorienting experience, as they both stumbled out of different pieces of rubble into the ground, and Tom quickly wrapped his arms around Harry, and disapparated to the Cellar of Honeydukes.

He nodded when Harry thanked him quickly, and watched as Harry rushed off as if he were being chased by a dragon.

That teacher of his must be quite strict, mused Tom, apparating back to the library, to sort out the mess they had made getting into it.

* * *

Sherlock lay on his bed, bouncing a rubber ball off his ceiling, as he waited for Harry to reply to the message he had just written him.

It had been two days since their mini-adventure with the hidden library, and Sherlock hadn't written till now because it seemed redundant to write to Harry so soon after he had seen him.

Two days had passed, though, and Sherlock deemed that long enough of a wait. He wasn't sure what news Harry could possibly have to report so soon after having seen him, but the truth was that he didn't care. He simply missed Harry. It really was ridiculous, this little crush he had on Harry, and Sherlock hoped that it would pass soon.

Meanwhile, he impatiently waited for Harry to answer his short message asking about his day. Sherlock knew that Harry had detention that night from seven, and, having decided that three hours was the maximum length of time a reasonable detention should take, had waited till ten until writing to Harry. He expected to get an answer at any second.

As it turned out, Harry's answer only came a short while after midnight. Sherlock was playing on his violin when his sharp eyes caught the movement of ink over parchment as Harry penned his reply.

It was a short greeting, and a friendly inquiry about Sherlock's day. What bothered Sherlock was the handwriting in which it was penned. Harry's handwriting was messy and hard to decipher at best, but now it seemed more shaky than messy. As if Harry was in pain.

Sherlock asked Harry what he had been made to do during the detention, and received the short answer:  _She had me writing lines. I don't really want to talk about it._

That explained much. Writing lines wasn't too bad of a detention, but that awful teacher had had him writing since seven. After five hours, Harry's arm was bound to be painful, tired and shaky.

It also explained why Harry didn't want to talk about it- writing more was probably the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. Sherlock decided that as Harry's friend it was his duty to do most of the talking tonight, and try to entertain Harry after what must have been five hours of mind-numbing boredom.

He selected one of the most interesting and exciting serial killer cases he had read about, and related it to Harry in great detail, pointing out hints and clues that lead to the killer along the way. The exciting conclusion of the story earned him a badly drawn smiley face from Harry, but as Sherlock bid him goodnight and tried to settle down and go to sleep, he couldn't help but feel like there was still something wrong.

* * *

Harry heaved a deep sigh, and sank into the big couch in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor common room.

He stared at his hand morosely. The words  _I must not tell lies_  flashed in front of his eyes, and he once again felt his anger bubbling up at the injustice of it all. How he hated Umbridge! He hated the condescending way she spoke, the way her tone overflowed with honey while she made him carve his hand open, and he hated how helpless he was against her.

The scars on his hand had not faded this time. In all the previous nights he had had detention, the scars had faded in the time it had taken him to go back to his dormitory, but not this time. The scars were still there, and that somehow made everything worse.

It felt as if now that the scars weren't leaving, he could no longer ignore and forget what he was going through. The scars were a humiliating reminder of what his teacher was making him do to himself, and he hated that they hadn't faded away yet.

A sudden pop startled Harry. He got up from the chair he had sunk into, and looked around trying to locate the source of the noise.

There, in front of the fireplace, was Dobby, standing with his back to Harry, but still recognizable through the tea-cozy on his head.

"Dobby!" cried Harry, cheered by the colorful sight of his friend.

Dobby spun around, and a huge grin broke out on his face as he saw Harry. "Harry Potter sir! Dobby is being very happy to see Sir! Sir has not come to visit Dobby since school began, but Dobby was hoping to meet Harry Potter Sir sooner or later, that is why Dobby volunteered to clean Gryffindor common room!"

Harry's face fell. "Sorry for not visiting you, Dobby, I've been having detention for hours and hours every night, and then needing to stay up till really late to do my homework, I really didn't have any time to visit you."

"Dobby does not mind, Sir, Dobby gets to see Harry Potter now! Maybe Dobby can help Harry Potter Sir with his work?"

"I don't think so," answered Harry "but thanks anyways, Dobby. How are you doing?"

Dobby beamed "Dobby is doing fireplace, Sir, and then cleaning floor. After that, Dobby has permission from Headmaster Dumbledore to leave castle, and Dobby will go visit Dobby's friend Yorry!"

"You're meeting up with Yorry?" asked Harry, grinning "Are you sure she's your friend and not something more?"

"Dobby is be trying to win Miss Yorry's heart, Harry Potter Sir, Yorry is pretty elf, and she think Dobby interesting for wanting to be free." Dobby was smiling, and his ears waggled in excitement.

Harry smiled "I'm rooting for you Dobby! Good luck!" after a second's pause he added "Actually, maybe there is something you could do for me."

"Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter Sir!" the elf exclaimed emphatically.

Harry laughed. "I don't think this should be too much trouble for you. Back during the summer, Yorry transported Sherlock and I to Malfoy Manor. Can you also transport people from one place to another?"

Dobby nodded enthusiastically "Yes, Sir! Dobby can be doing this Harry Potter Sir!"

"Great!" grinned Harry "Because things have been kind of awful lately here at school, and I think I could handle all the stress and those damn detentions if I could just see Sherlock once in a while and talk to him."

Dobby's face fell. "Dobby does not think he can be doing that, Harry Potter Sir. In summer, when little wizzies not learning at Hogwarts, Dobby can go away and do whatever Dobby likes, but after the students be coming back, Dobby must ask Headmaster Dumbledore Sir for permission before leaving school. When Dobby say he want to leave to visit pretty elf friend, Headmaster Dumbledore Sir smile and wink at Dobby and say yes to Dobby leaving, but if Dobby say he want to take Harry Potter Sir out of school, Dobby don't think Headmaster will be smiling and winking." Dobby hung his head sadly. After a few moments' contemplation he slowly said "Maybe Dobby will take Harry Potter without telling Headmaster Dumbledore Sir, he would only need to punish himself after…"

"No!" Harry yelped "Don't punish yourself! Don't do anything that would make you feel compelled to punish yourself! Forget I said anything, Dobby. It doesn't matter."

Dobby looked torn between relief at not needing to disobey Dumbledore, and the desire to help Harry "But Dobby does want to help Harry Potter Sir, if he can. Harry Potter Sir has been great friend to Dobby, and Dobby wants to help him. Maybe Dobby can help with something else?" he asked hopefully "Harry Potter Sir say things in school have been awful, maybe Dobby can do something to fix that?"

"It's just Professor Umbridge." said Harry "She's making me do this to myself during detentions" he showed Dobby the scars on his hand "but I don't think there's anything you can do about it. You're not allowed to do anything to teachers, are you?"

Dobby took Harry's hand carefully in his, and examined the scar. His huge eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. "Dobby may not do anything against teacher's wishes. Dobby cannot even heal scars for Harry Potter Sir. Dobby is sorry!"

"It's not you fault, Dobby." sighed Harry, and patted the elf, who had meanwhile started sniffling, on the shoulder. Dobby's sniffles became more hysteric, and before Harry knew it, they had turned into sobs.

"It's really okay!" insisted Harry earnestly, hoping fervently that Dobby would stop crying "I'm fine, it's not that bad, I'm actually really touched you care this much Dobby, but try not to worry about it."

Dobby's sobs became wails, and he flung his arms around Harry's middle, before disappearing with a pop.

Feeling slightly bewildered but touched at how distressed his friend was, Harry headed up to bed.

* * *

Dobby popped into existence just outside the house in which he knew Yorry's master resided, and took a moment to compose himself. Dobby was quite the intelligent elf, he always had been, though he often let his emotions cloud his mind.

There was a downside to being more intelligent than most elves, Dobby knew, and it was that he could look beyond the desires of his master, and see the bigger picture. Most elves never bothered thinking about anything but what their masters told them to do, they obeyed their orders, and took pleasure in feeling useful and needed.

Dobby, though, had always been able to see beyond the fact that Lucius Malfoy was his master, and understand the fact that he was also a bad man, and that following his orders caused bad things.

When he was a little elf, Dobby had always thought that this was a curse. While the other elves he had known had been blissfully happy just going about their day and serving their masters, Dobby could not feel happy. Dobby liked to help, but he did not want to help the evil Lucius Malfoy. Serving Mr. Malfoy had made him feel frustrated and sad.

Many times, Dobby used to wish that he could be as simple and stupid as the other elves, simply happy to do what he was told. Now, though, after the last few years, Dobby was happy for being a smart and independent elf. He was free, he got to pick his master, and he picked the best master he could have to serve, and he even had a human friend! Such a kind and great human friend, too!

Harry Potter was his superior in intelligence, as all humans were, but he still treated Dobby as a friend, and despite Dobby's inborn loyalty to his master, Dobby was even more loyal to Harry Potter.

So though Dobby knew that the great Headmaster Dumbledore probably wouldn't be too happy about what Dobby was doing, Dobby knew that it would make Harry Potter happy, so Dobby would do it.

House-elves were born with the ability to sense the desires of humans, the better to serve them. Many times, Dobby anticipated what Lucius Malfoy wanted before he had even said anything, and preparing things to his master's satisfaction before his master even asked, had saved him many punishments and beatings.

So Dobby knew what Harry Potter desired, though Harry Potter might not even know it himself. Harry Potter wanted his friend Sherlock. That wasn't the only thing he desired, there was another desire, clouded a bit by self-doubt and confusion, but Dobby could still sense it. Harry Potter also held the desire for Yorry's master.

And Yorry's master wanted Harry Potter back. It wasn't the same kind of desire Dobby usually sensed- the desire for food, drink, or physical comfort. It felt different: deep, and beautiful, and it made Dobby very sad and very happy at the same time.

Dobby had occasionally felt this desire from Lucius Malfoy when he looked at his wife, and during those moments Dobby found that he couldn't truly hate Lucius Malfoy, despite his evilness.

So Dobby would use this knowledge to make his friend Harry Potter happy. It could be Dobby's secret present for Harry Potter- a small reward for what Harry Potter had done for Dobby by freeing him.

It took some considerable effort, and using every single bit of cunning Dobby possessed, but in half an hour's time, Dobby had come up with a brilliant plan.

Straightening himself out, Dobby started by sorting out his appearence. Dobby had been quite upset at what awful things Harry Potter had to do to himself in detention, and he had felt quite helpless, and there were still dried tears of sadness and frustration on his face. Now that he had a plan in action to help Harry Potter, Dobby felt much better, but since looking upset was vital to his plan, Dobby needed to start crying again. Dobby pinched himself as hard as he could until tears of pain appeared in his eyes, and then directed his magic to pop him into existence by Yorry's side.

He stumbled a bit upon landing, but once he had gotten his bearings, Dobby looked around. Yorry was walking around a big room with bookshelves, a fireplace, and a couch, and was dusting the books. Her master was reclining on the couch, reading something from a scroll of parchment.

Dobby gave a little sob, and arranged his face into the most heartbroken expression he could manage.

"Dobby!" cried Yorry, as she caught a glimpse of Dobby's tear-streaked face and distressed expression, then she quickly glanced at her master, scared of angering him with the disturbance.

The master merely looked curious, though. "Harry Potter's elf?" he smirked "Is that the visitor you asked permission to see? You are excused, Yorry, the bookshelves don't need dusting all that much. Go do whatever you want, and don't bother me."

Oh no! Dobby was hoping to have some private time with Yorry later, but first, he needed the master to be there so he could put his plan into action.

Thinking quickly, Dobby flung himself onto the carpet, and started wailing. He caught Yorry's master's face twitch with irritation before burying his face in the carpet.

"Dobby come!" Yorry sounded distinctly panicked now "You is disturbing Master! Yorry and Dobby must go somewhere else, and there Yorry will try to help Dobby, but first you must go, before you get Master angry!"

"Oh, poor Harry Potter!" sobbed Dobby dramatically "Poor, poor, Master Harry!"

Sneakily peaking at Yorry's master, Dobby saw him sit up tensely.

"What's wrong with Harry?" he demanded.

"Poor Master Harry!" cried Dobby "Is being forced to punish himself over and over, and Dobby is not being allowed to help. Dobby must stand by while poor master Harry punishes himself, and has no friend in the world to help! Master Sherlock is not being able to come help master Harry, and poor Master is alone with no friend, only pain!"

Yorry's master had risen from the couch and was standing directly over Dobby. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded.

Dobby allowed his sobs to slowly subside, and Yorry's master awkwardly patted him on the shoulder to calm him down. Dobby could sense his impatience, though. At that moment, his greatest desire was to hear what had happened to Dobby's friend Harry Potter and help. Perfect.

Dobby slowly raised himself into a seated position, and wiped stray tears from his eyes, hiccupping.

"Master Harry is be having lots of detentions and Professor Toady is be making Harry Potter Sir hurt himself in detention. Master Harry is sad and wants to see his friends, but Dobby is not being allowed to bring him friends without Headmaster Dumbledore's saying he can, and Headmaster Dumbledore will never be letting Dobby bring Harry Potter's friends into Hogwarts to visit him! Poor Master Harry, all alone and in pain, and Dobby can do nothing to help!" he finished tragically.

"Well," said Yorry's master slowly "luckily for Harry, my elf isn't required to ask Albus Dumbledore for permission before doing anything. Go spend time with Yorry, Dobby, and stop worrying about Harry. Just leave it to me."

Dobby nodded gratefully, took Yorry's offered hand, and allowed her to pop him to her own personal quarters.

It was a small room with a bed and a bathroom and not much else.

Yorry and Dobby sat down side by side on the bed, and Yorry patted Dobby on the back comfortingly. "It is being okay, Dobby. My Master Lord is going to be helping, and he is very smart Master. Yorry knows that he can help."

"Dobby knows so too." replied Dobby "That is why Dobby pretended to cry, so that Yorry's Master will decide to help Dobby's friend Harry Potter."

Yorry stopped rubbing Dobby's back, and gaped at him. "Dobby! You is such a bad elf!" she giggled, her face a mixture of awe at Dobby's audacity and terror at the thought of being so cheeky.

"Dobby will show Yorry just how bad an elf Dobby can be!" announced Dobby, daringly taking hold of Yorry's hand.

"Oh, Dobby!" Yorry giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tragically un-betaed chapter! I really appreciate reviews pointing out mistakes and offering constructive criticism. Obviously I appreciate review telling me you love the story even more, but both are welcome.
> 
> Have a nice day!


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of violence and cruelty to animals, but mostly for a brief mention of Umbridge's undergarments. I'm truly sorry.

Sherlock was sleeping when the most unpleasant sensation jerked him awake. Well, not sleeping, per se, sleeping was extremely boring and Sherlock tried to avoid it for as long as humanly possible. He was napping, just napping for a few hours. His nap may have been extending for quite longer than he had intended, as was bound to happen when he put off sleeping for too long, when he was jerked awake in quite a rude fashion.

Sherlock felt like he was being compressed through a tiny straw, and he had experienced the feeling before. Why was he being apparated to an unknown location by unknown assailants in the middle of the night? Only they knew, mused Sherlock. He himself was too sleepy to try and deduce it. He was just falling back asleep when the understanding of his situation finally hit him, and he jerked awake in a panic, and bolted up on his feet looking around an empty room.

"The only people who would use a house-elf to fetch me that I know are Harry Potter and Tom Riddle." he said, slowly spinning around trying to catch a glimpse of his captor. "But both of them would have written to me telling me they were sending an elf over, they wouldn't have kidnapped me while I was sleeping with no warning. At least I can't imagine either of them finding much humor in that.

"No, this is more sinister- trying to catch me off guard, refusing to reveal yourself, though I can see your shadow from under the closed door. This is a kidnapping. The only two wizards who would take an interest in me are Harry and Tom. Harry would have no reason to do this. Tom, on the other hand, you suffer from a curious malady I'd deduced the very first time I met you.

"You're not exactly stable, are you? Oh, you're fine most of the time, but in your quest for mortality something went wrong, and you can't always retain your sanity. Suddenly you become Lord Voldemort, insane, power hungry, driven by anger and hate. In this state of mind, once you realized that a muggle knew you, knew about your Horcruxes, knew of your secret plans, you would set out to destroy me immediately.

"Well, I'm truly sorry to disappoint you, but you will not succeed in harming me." stated Sherlock, lying wildly while his mind raced to try to think of an escape plan "Harry will know I'm missing, we were going to meet up later today. If he suspects that you've done something to harm me, he will go straight to Albus Dumbledore with all our information on the Horcruxes.

"On the other hand, if you just leave me alone in peace, I won't do anything." he stated, quietly taking a heavy metal artifact that looked a bit like a huge spinning top, which had been standing on the desk in the room he was in "So just let me go, and you'll have nothing to worry about. Everything will get back to normal."

While he was saying this, Sherlock crept closer and closer to the closed door, preparing to hit his captor on the head with the metal thing the second he entered.

So he nearly dropped the object in surprise when the voice coming from the other side of the door wasn't the furious high-pitched voice he had been expecting, but rather low and amused.

"Actually, I just left to go to the loo, and was about to reenter the room when you started talking about being kidnapped and me concealing myself. I promise I have no sinister intentions. Now, can I come in without you attacking me?"

"No." replied Sherlock "I can't allow anyone who had witnessed me being wrong live. Run for your life."

Tom ignored him and opened the door. A second later he started in surprise. "You weren't kidding when you said you were taken while you were sleeping, you're still in your sleep clothes, or lack thereof."

Sherlock looked down as he realized that he had gone to sleep naked and the only thing Yorry had apparated him with had been the sheet he had slept on. He wrapped it more securely around himself, and then forgot about it, deeming it irrelevant.

"So why was I taken here by surprise without even being woken up first?" Sherlock asked, peeved at the cause of his mistaken deduction.

Tom shrugged "I have no idea; you'll need to ask Yorry."

"Yes Master?" the elf appeared at the sound of her name.

"Why did you feel it necessary to take Mr. Holmes here without waking him up and giving him a chance to get dressed first?"

"Master said for Yorry to bring over Sherlock Holmes, Yorry brought over Sherlock Holmes. Yorry is only being doing what Master says." replied Yorry, somewhat mutinously.

"Well, there you go." said Tom, turning back to Sherlock "She was just following orders." He smirked a bit as he said it.

Sherlock sent a menacing glare towards Yorry, and then turned back to Tom, ruffling his hair tiredly. "So why am I here? Wait! Don't tell me! You need my help with something! You've finally acknowledged that my intelligence is superior to yours, and would like my advice! Either that or you've realized my value as an ally, and have decided to induct me as a Death Eater!"

"You  _would_  make one hell of a Death Eater," agreed Tom "but that's actually not why I asked Yorry to bring you over."

"Then it has to do with Harry." concluded Sherlock.

"It does." agreed Tom "The house-elf Dobby came here last night. He was quite distressed. Elves have a strange way of speaking that can be hard to understand, but from what I gather, Harry's having some pretty nasty detentions, to the extent that the detention causes him pain, though Dobby didn't specify exactly what it was, and I have a hard time imagining what it could be, given the corporal punishment was banned as punishment at Hogwarts quite a while ago. In any case, it sounds like Harry's in distress and could use some help, or at least some support. I thought we could go visit him, try to get him to explain what's wrong for himself."

Sherlock frowned "She has him writing lines, it sounds annoying, but it couldn't be that painful. There must be something additional, not just lines, but something else. Harry said he didn't want to talk about it, I shouldn't have disregarded it so quickly. Why didn't he tell me, ask me for help?"

"Maybe he didn't want to bother you since he didn't think you could help." suggested Tom.

Sherlock snorted "I'm a genius, he knows that. I'm smart enough to solve his problems even if I'm not a wizard. It's not that, it's just Harry's damn stubborn personality; he's too self-reliant for his own good. It comes from having no adult to take care of him the first ten years of his life, and being expected to defeat ridiculously powerful wizards on his own every year since. He never asks anyone for help, damn him, and now he's paying for it."

"Well?" prompted Tom "Do you want to come to Hogwarts with me to investigate?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I do." replied Sherlock "I've been wanting to see Hogwarts ever since Harry told me about it. And, of course, I have a bone to pick with Harry. Let's go!"

"Umm, we can spare a few minutes for you to go back home and get some clothes on." suggested Tom.

"Clothes? Clothes are boring!" replied Sherlock impatiently "I'm fine, this sheet is opaque. Let's go see Hogwarts!"

Tom shrugged, and signaled for Yorry to come and apparate them.

* * *

Harry woke up to a feeling of prodding at his chest. Opening his eyes, he let out a muffled shriek of surprise at the sight of wide green eyes staring at him. A moment later, he realized that the green eyes looked very familiar, and he started groping for his glasses.

Putting them on, he confirmed his suspicions- Dobby had been sitting on his stomach and prodding him in his chest until he woke up. Now he was watching Harry with a slightly curious expression as Harry's mind cleared of sleep and caught up with the current situation.

"Dobby, you can't wake me up like that again!" hissed Harry quietly, relived that his roommates still seemed to be asleep, and trying to keep it that way.

Dobby's ears drooped and he hung his head "Dobby is sorry."

Harry sighed. "It's fine, Dobby, you just gave me a bit of a scare. Just say my name or something next time you decide to wake me up. So what is it?"

At this question, Dobby seemed to regain his good mood. "Harry Potter Sir must come immediately to secret corridor behind statue of ugly witchy on third floor!"

"Why?" asked Harry "What's going on?"

Dobby's mouth stretched in a wide smile, but he just shook his head and said innocently: "Dobby does not know anything. Dobby was told to bring Harry Potter there, and Dobby will do so. Dobby was not expecting this at all!"

"Told? Told by who?" demanded Harry "Who wants me there?"

"Harry Potter must go" insisted Dobby, and then popped off before Harry could question him more.

Harry sighed, and ran his hand through his messy hair feeling torn. On the one hand- he remembered all the times Dobby had tried to help him in the past, and history suggested that this mysterious encounter would not end well. On the other hand, Dobby was no longer trying to save his life, something that would greatly reduce the chances of Harry getting killed as a result of Dobby's intervention. Additionally, Dobby would be quite insulted if Harry ignored his advice and didn't follow his instructions.

His mind made up, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and his wand, and headed quietly out of the dorms. It was 8am, but considering that it was during the weekend, not many people were up, and no one spared him a glance as he slipped out of the portrait hole quietly.

Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and hurried down to the third floor. He quickly tapped the statue with his wand, muttered the password, and slid down the stone slide at the other end.

The passageway was empty, and Harry could see no one, but he thought he heard voices further down the corridor and began to walk. About a minute later, he could make out silhouettes in the darkness, and as he approached they became clearer and clearer until he gasped in surprise and recognition upon spotting his friends.

"Tom! Sherlock! What the hell are you doing here?"

"We've come to visit you." replied Tom "We want to know why you've been hiding things from us."

"What do you mean hiding things?" Harry frowned, looking from Tom to Sherlock "And why is Sherlock wearing a sheet?"

"Never mind that!" said Sherlock impatiently "Why didn't you tell us you were having a miserable time in school? We could have helped! Why did Tom have to find out from  _Dobby_  that things were bad when you were writing to me almost every night?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Sherlock snapped at him "That was a rhetorical question, Harry, I know why you didn't tell me, it's because of an inherent flaw in your personality. I'm just trying to point out how stupid it was of you!"

"I'm sorry." said Harry quietly "I just didn't want to complain or bother you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I know that! That's the whole problem!"

"What I want to know," interrupted Tom "is what the teacher is making you do anyways. Dobby was fairly vague on that point, all he said was that she was making you punish yourself and that you were miserable and in pain."

"It's stupid." muttered Harry "It doesn't even really hurt all that much, it's just annoying and humiliating. She makes me write lines with this special quill, and the quill must have some kind of enchantment on it, look-" he showed them his scarred hand.

"What is that?" asked Tom harshly, but his hand was gentle as he took Harry's hand in his.

"It's the quill." explained Harry "It doesn't need any ink, but whenever I write with it, the words I'm writing are cut out on my hand, like it's using my blood as ink. It heals at first, but she's had me writing in it for hours and hours every day, and now the scars won't leave."

Tom paled, and then looked down, examining Harry's hand carefully.

"Hmm, I've never seen anything exactly like it before, but I know artifacts that work on a similar concept. That wasn't my question, though. I want to know why you haven't told anyone. Corporal punishment is illegal, especially something like this that causes lasting damage. Why didn't you go to a teacher, have it stopped?"

Harry was about to answer when Sherlock interrupted him. "Umbridge is a representative of the Ministry." he muttered, Harry looked at him in surprise. His tone wasn't smug like it usually was when he was making a deduction, his voice was flat and toneless, and he was avoiding Harry's eye. "Umbridge has the Ministry on her side. The Ministry doesn't like Harry at the moment, they want to shut him up, and they proved during his trial this summer that they don't mind breaking the law to do so. No, turning to an adult wouldn't have helped.

"I could have helped though!" he said suddenly, raising his head to stare Harry in the eyes "I could have helped, Harry, you know I could. We both could, Tom and I. Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you turn to us?"

"I didn't want to bother you." muttered Harry, feeling embarrassed.

Sherlock sighed. "Harry, I am not a very demonstrative person, so I will only say this once: I care about you. I really do. I'm pretty sure Tom cares about you too." Tom nodded emphatically "We want you to be happy and we want to help you, but you need to confide in us for that to happen!"

"Okay," said Harry torn between being embarrassed and being touched, "I get it. Thank you. Both of you. Really. I promise if I ever need help I won't hide it from you."

"That's what we were hoping for." said Tom "Now, as for what we do next- our original plan was just to find out exactly what was wrong, solve the problem, and then take Sherlock for a tour of Hogwarts grounds, but now there's something else we need to do."

"What would that be?" inquired Harry.

"Revenge." answered Sherlock.

"Nothing that will get you in trouble, obviously" said Tom "but once we're done with her, Umbridge will never so much as sneeze in your direction. I'll do the planning, obviously, and you two can help with the execution."

"Wait!" interrupted Sherlock "Why are you doing the planning? Are you forgetting which one of us is the genius here?"

"Yes, yes, Sherlock, you're very smart, and that's very helpful in other situations, but  _you're_ forgetting that  _I'm_  the Dark Lord. Do you really think you can plan revenge better than Lord Voldemort?" Tom demanded.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you're very good and being dark and intimidating" sneered Sherlock "but I can make Umbridge loose her sanity. You Dark Lords are all the same-"

"How many Dark Lords do you know?" demanded Tom, but Sherlock ignored him.

"-You're all about being big and bad and frightening. It takes subtlety to truly make a person insane with fear and insecurity. Big explosions and scary snakes won't cover it here. Having one scary thing happen to her isn't enough. If you truly want to torture her, it needs to be psychological. One little irritant after another after another, getting more and more severe until she is trembling with fear wondering what will come next. You clearly don't actually know how to-"

"Actually," said Harry loudly, interrupting them both "I think I should have a say on how we get revenge on Umbridge, considering  _I_ am the one who was hurt by her."

"Yeah," said Sherlock "but Harry, you aren't a Dark Lord  _or_  a genius."

Harry rolled his eyes "I may not be as smart as you, Sherlock, or as knowledgeable about magic as you, Tom, but just because I get bad grades in school doesn't mean I am stupid, you should know that better than anyone. If the subjects are boring and I'm too lazy to study, it doesn't mean I can't think.

"Now, I would not have been able to retain my sanity living with the Dursleys without getting revenge every once in while. So I played tricks on my family countless times. Remember that I had to do this without getting caught or punished, in a household where I was punished for every single bad thing that happened, even when it had nothing to do with me. A short look at amount of prank ratio to the amount of times I was punished for what happened should tell you that I should definitely be allowed to plan this revenge.

"And in any case, this whole conversation is idiotic, everyone should suggest their ideas for revenge, and we should do them all! The more the better! Words can not express how much I want to see the toad suffer!"

Both Tom and Sherlock looked sheepish.

Tom was the first to speak up which didn't surprise Harry- whenever Sherlock was wrong, he pretended as if he had never made a mistake until someone changed the subject- "You're right, Harry. We're sorry. I want to ask something, though, why does everyone keep on referring to Umbridge as a toad? Dobby did it too last night."

"Because she looks remarkably like a toad." replied Harry "And I'm not just saying that because I hate her, I thought she looked exactly like a toad before she even opened her mouth the first time I saw her."

"I can't imagine it." said Tom, frowning,

"You won't have to." replied Harry "I'm assuming you'll want to stay to watch your revenge happen, and that's what I have my invisibility cloak for- you'll both have front-row seats."

"Perfect." replied Sherlock "I was going to ask you for it anyways. I want to see the castle."

"Will you be able to see it?" asked Harry "What about the anti-muggle enchantments? What are you seeing now, for that matter?"

"A stone corridor, like you are." replied Sherlock "Tom explained it. If a muggle comes here accompanied by a wizard, the wards don't work on him. This assures that muggle parents who are summoned to visit the Headmaster will be able to come just the same as magical parents."

"Dumbledore never invited the Dursleys to talk with him at Hogwarts, and I probably got into more trouble than any other student ever. I killed a teacher on my very first year here! He must have known that Dursleys at Hogwarts would only lead to disaster." mused Harry.

"Yes, Harry, thank you for reminding us that we also need to plan revenge on the Dursleys at some point." said Tom "Let's stick with Umbridge for the moment, though. What kind of ideas did you have?"

* * *

Aragog sighed as one of his great-grandchildren called him once again to feed. He hoped that whatever it was that they had hunted it was soft and juicy. He was less tolerant of tough and dry meat than he was in his youth.

He emerged from his web slowly, cursing his failing health, he turned toward the sound of the pincer clicking "What is it?" he asked, hearing scared breathing but unable to see the source.

"Humans" was the reply.

"Not Hagrid?" confirmed Aragog.

"No. Smaller."

"You can eat them. Keep some leftovers for me." It was humiliating to have to ask for this, but Aragog was no longer the strong leader he once was- he could no longer hunt for himself.

"Wait." said a voice that sounded distinctly human "You might not want to eat us yet."

"There is only one human I care about, and you are not him." replied Aragog "This is your own fault for wandering into our territory. Prepare to die, human."

"We came in to your territory on purpose, to offer you a deal." replied the voice.

Aragog paused, curious "What can you give me that might tempt me not to eat you? My children are hungry and need food."

"A fresh baby lamb every day for the next week." came to prompt reply.

"What would you like in return?" asked Aragog, as calmly as he could, trying not to betray his eagerness.

The human answered.

"Make that two lambs a day for the next fortnight, and you have yourself a deal."

* * *

Debbie smiled at the man, and wished him a good day as he bagged the items he had bought and left. She turned to the next people waiting in line to buy their products.

It was a group of three boys. They looked a couple of years younger than herself, and they were all pale with dark hair.

"…Rudimentary." one was saying.

"Rudimentary but effective." replied the shortest one. He was the only one of the group wearing glasses, and he seemed slightly younger than the other two.

Debbie frowned in distaste when she saw the product they were buying. She occasionally saw people buying the itching powder- mostly little kids bought it along with some whoopee cushions and hand buzzers, and Debbie was always sure to warn them that pranks could be unpleasant and harmful and that they shouldn't take it too far.

Teenager buying something like that struck her as much worse. They were intelligent and creative enough that they could do some really nasty things with a product like that, and Debbie winced as she remembered how certain kids in her high school used to get relentlessly picked on and tortured. She didn't like to think about what a group of attractive, confident, and no doubt popular kids like these would do to their poor victim.

It was quite unprofessional, but Debbie couldn't help it. "You know, that thing isn't just an innocent prank product, it can be very uncomfortable and even painful. Please don't use it on someone who doesn't deserve something like that."

The one with neat hair and an old-fashioned look about him rolled his eyes, and then took out a stick and pointed it at her. Debbie started in surprise, which only intensified when she heard him say something that sounded like "Obliviate."

Debbie smiled as she waved the boys out of the shop. Such polite, nice, young boys! And how sweet! Buying party supplies for a surprise party for a sick friend who couldn't leave his hospital room!

"I still can't believe they don't have potions that do this." she thought she heard the tall boy with the curls muttering as they exited the shop. "And are you sure you didn't lay it on too thick, Tom? Her eyes looked at touch glassy, is that normal?"

Shrugging, Debbie got back to work.

* * *

Ordwick sneered as he chased the pompous man out of his shop. Filthy mudbloods! As if he would sell his precious ingredients to scum like that!

"And don't come back unless you want to be used for potion ingredients next time!" he called after the disgusting abomination with his filthy muggle blood, spitting on the ground after him.

He sat down and sighed. What had the wizarding world come to that mudbloods thought they would be welcome in Knockturn Alley just because they practiced dark magic?

The bell over the door gave a screech as the door opened and three dark and hooded figures entered.

"Welcome to Noir Potions." recited Ordwick monotonously "Here we can meet your every illegal potion need, whether it be banned ingredients such as unicorn blood or forbidden potions such as Bone Melting Brew. What can I do for you?"

"Are you sure we should buy here?" muttered one of the figures to the other "Can't be the brightest tool in the box if he just announces he sells illegal material to any person who might enter."

Ordwick scowled at him.

"The bell over the door is charmed to read your intentions. If we were undercover Aurors it would have let out a different sound that would alert the salesperson." answered one of his companions.

"You're obviously a newbie." sneered Orwick "Anyone who knows anything about the dark arts would already know that. What? Got sorted into Slytherin and thought that made you so tough you could go into Knockturn Alley without getting hurt? Run along home, little boy."

"Actually," interrupted the figure who had explained the bell to the ignorant one "Sherlock isn't from around here and isn't familiar with our customs. You would do well not to anger him though, he the most powerful legilimens I have ever encountered in my long years. Sherlock- show him."

The tall figure Ordwick had sneered at now turned to look at him. There was a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"Your wife doesn't know you're into the illegal potions business. In fact, she doesn't even know you work in Knockturn Alley. Shame on you, for lying to her. Oh, and does your brother-in-law know that you are the one killing off his herd of thestrals for their spleens? I thought not. I can go on and tell my companions each and every one of your dirty little secrets. Shall I go on, or do I have you convinced?"

Ordwick had to put every single ounce of concentration he had into keeping a straight face. It would not be wise to give away just how frightened he was. Ordwick had been trained in the art of Occlumency, like any child from a self-respecting pure-blood family, and he was quite talented at it as well as Legilimency. So words could not have expressed how frightened he was that this stranger had not only managed to get past his defenses, he had also managed to do it completely without detection. If he hadn't just spouted out all those secret details he should have had absolutely no way of knowing, Ordwick wouldn't have believed his mind had been broken into in the first place- that's how subtle and undetectable his intrusion was. Here was clearly a wizard of quite considerable power.

Ordwick bowed his head to the threesome with new found respect, and this time, his voice was polite as he asked "What can I do for you, Sirs?"

* * *

"Okay," said Harry "the only thing left to do now is get into the bitch's room. I'll sneak back to the dorm room, since I need to have an alibi for this one. Sherlock creates a distraction, and Tom sneak into the room. We meet back here in the tunnel once the preparations are done."

"What's the distraction going to be?" asked Tom curiously.

"Don't worry," smirked Sherlock "I've got an idea." And with that he sprinted off down the tunnel.

"And what's the idea?" called Tom down the tunnel after him, but Harry sighed and shook his head- "Don't bother. There's no way he'll tell you. He loves the dramatic moment where he gets to reveal his genius plan too much to ever give anything away."

Tom frowned, but turned to Harry "Well, he took the invisibility cloak with him, so I'll have to disillusion you before you head off to your dorm. Hold still for a second."

* * *

Dolores Umbridge scowled heavily as her alarm clock meowed softly, and ignored the sound, exhausted. The clock continued to meow persistently, and eventually flew over to her, and started jumping on her in an attempt to get her up. If Dolores stayed in bed any longer, it would start spurting water at her, so she groaned and got out of bed, rubbing her eyes and scowling.

She had had the most hideously awful night, and had hardly slept. Sometime around 4am last night, a hole had been made in the ceiling above her bedroom, and ice-cold water had been poured right over her head. Peeves the poltergeist had been blamed, of course, though Umbridge had no idea how he had managed to figure out where exactly he would have to make the hole so that it would be right over her head.

In any case, she had gotten out of bed to catch the culprit (Peeves, obviously), had spent the next hour chasing him with the help of Filch, the caretaker, and the hour after that trying to repair the hole in her ceiling.

Today was going to be a bad day, she mused. Not only would she be tired all day, and have to return to teaching after a weekend that had been blissfully void of snot-nosed little brats, but Potter had finished all the detentions she had assigned to him last night, and today there would be no more detentions unless he misbehaved again. She hoped that he would.

Entering her closet, Dolores decided to wear a soft pink blouse with little butterflies embroidered around the collar, and her favourite fluffy pink cardigan. She frowned when she stared at the crease in the blouse- she always made sure to fold her clothes perfectly so that there would be absolutely no wrinkles, but it seemed that she had been careless with this blouse, how very unlike her.

Putting it on, Dolores frowned at how hard it was to put her clothes on- she must have gained weight. Sucking in her stomach, Dolores finally managed to put on her clothes, but she grimaced at how very tight and uncomfortable they were. She was almost tempted to use an Engorgement Charm on her clothing, though it was well known that using that charm on clothes caused them to fall apart in short order. She would have done it if it hadn't been for the fact that the pink blouse was very expensive and couldn't be replaced. She used it on her bra and knickers, though, which helped a bit.

Heading to breakfast, Dolores frowned as she considered the fact that she had gained weight. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would never be beautiful, so gaining weight didn't bother her in the aesthetic sense it would most women, but rather because just the night before the cardigan had fitted her perfectly. Was her memory going?

"Good morning, Dolores." she was greeted politely by Professor McGonagall. Even when dealing with a person she so obviously disliked, the rigid witch would not allow herself to be anything less than polite.

Dolores understood that way of thinking- she herself always made sure to keep her voice sweet and friendly no matter what fiend she was dealing with. Therefore, her voice was sugary sweet as she replied "Good morning to you as well, Minerva."

"Are you prepared for your second week of teaching?" inquired Minerva as Dolores sat down and helped herself to the bacon.

"Oh yes," replied Dolores "There may have been a few, shall we say- glitches" she giggled "last week, but let us hope that all the perpetrators have now learned their lesson." she cast a meaningful look at Potter, and felt herself glow with smugness as she saw Minerva's fists clench and unclench slowly. How good it felt to provoke her, and watch her sit there, unable to retaliate as she would like to.

"Oh, yes, Dolores" replied Minerva finally, her voice so sweet it rivaled Dolores's "sometimes it can be quite hard to keep a class in check. All inexperienced teachers encounter the same problem. If you feel confused or overwhelmed by your students, please feel free to come to me for advice."

"Oh, I will." said Dolores serenely, imagining McGonagall with a knife through her chest. She took a long swig of her pumpkin juice and grimaced at how sweet it was. The elves had obviously used too much sugar, she would see to it that they were punished.

A bee buzzed in her ear, and Dolores jumped, making shooing noises around her ear. Seeing no bee, she assumed she had succeeded in getting rid of it, and was about to start eating again, when she saw McGonagall staring at her in confusion.

"Bee." she explained shortly, and turned her attention back to her plate.

A yellow and black blur flashed across her vision. She spun around frantically, looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. She spotted a few students pointing at her and sniggering, and she took care to remember their faces, resolving to find an excuse to give them detention by the end of the day.

Dolores turned back to her plate, as calmly as she could, and cursed her fear of bees. She looked up once again to make sure the bee wasn't buzzing around her, and let out a horrified scream- the Great Hall was swarming in bees, there must have been a nest that was disturbed!

Her eyes closed in an involuntary blink, and when they opened again there were no bees to be found.

Now quite a few children were pointing at her and giggling among themselves, and McGonagall was looking at her, half confused and half concerned.

"Are you feeling alright, Dolores?" she asked.

"Quite fine, Minerva." she replied stoically, then swatted again wildly at the air as she heard the buzzing again.

"There was no bee there." Minerva was frowning now.

"Oh, I thought I heard…" said Dolores faintly, feeling a tickling sensation on her cheek and slapping at it, only to realize that it was just a strand of hair.

Minerva raised her eyebrows but said no more.

Dolores headed to class, twitching as she heard noises. She had realized that the things she was seeing were a product of her own mind, but she couldn't help flinching at the sound of buzzing, or giving a little shriek at the sensation of bugs crawling over her arm, even if there was nothing there.

Arriving in her classroom, Dolores took a moment to compose herself and consider the situation.

Was it her? She wondered, as she batted at a wasp that she knew wasn't really there. Was she going mad?

Or had she been drugged? Was she being targeted by someone? Dolores held a highly desirable and coveted position in the ministry, and had made herself many enemies getting there. If she had been drugged, the person must have been very powerful and cunning, to sneak into Hogwarts undetected and taint her food without being caught by the elves.

Was she being followed right now? What else would they do to her? If she could be drugged, that meant she could be poisoned too, what if whoever was targeting her decided that drugging her wasn't enough? What would she do?

She gave an almighty shriek and leapt about a foot in the air when the door creaked open, only to grimace in humiliation when she realized that it was three students, entering for their first class. The girls looked puzzled, but the boy snickered cruelly at her. "Ten points from Ravenclaw, Spudmore!" she snarled, forgetting completely to speak in her usual kind and sweet tone.

The children frowned as they got into their seats, and Umbridge ignored them and sat at her desk, occasionally flinching at a sound only she seemed to hear. She refused to go to the hospital wing, though. She had earned herself many enemies here at Hogwarts, and there were many people who did not want their incompetent ways of handling things revealed. She could trust no one.

By lunch, the effects of whatever it was she had been given were starting to wear off, but not before Dolores had earned herself many weird stares and suppressed sniggering from the student population, courtesy of uncontrollable twitches, frequent flinches, and a few times she had been unable to stop herself from shrieking in alarm.

Was that the plan of her mysterious enemy? To discredit her? To display her as insane and tarnish her reputation? She nervously looked around at her fellow teachers, sitting in the great hall during lunch time, trying to consider which of them could have been the one to poison her.

The half-breed abomination that was the Charms professor gave her a cheerful greeting with a sinister little grin on his face, and Dolores gave a fearful little shriek, jumped out of her seat, and ran to her quarters in the school.

Once there, she summoned a house-elf, ordered it to bring her food, and made it eat a piece her meatloaf and watched it carefully for any unusual behavior before finally having some herself.

The whole lesson after lunch, Dolores tensely waited for something to happen to her, but as everything remained calm, she began to regain her confidence. By the time the fifth-year Gryffindors entered for their class, Dolores was feeling at ease once more, and was already planning the penalty her attacker would suffer once she discovered their identity. Or, if she couldn't discover the person who had drugged her, the penalty Harry Potter would suffer in their stead.

She grinned at him nastily, but to her annoyance, he only yawned widely and opened his book to the page that was written on the board.

Irritably, Dolores settled down to wait as the class finished reading the chapter she had assigned, scratching her leg lightly. Then, looking around to make sure she wasn't being watch, she scratched harder.

She must have been bitten by a mosquito, she mused, it was that time of year. If she scratched anymore, she would just irritate the bite, so she clenched her arms and tried to ignore the itch. But as was the way of unsatisfied itches, it soon started spreading down the rest of her leg, and her stomach was feeling itchy too. Unable to resist, Dolores gave her leg a nice, long, satisfying scratch, enjoying the momentary relief. Before it started again.

By now, the itch had spread to the rest of her body, and rolling up her sleeve, Dolores saw that her skin looked red and irritated. Luckily, it kept to under her clothes so far, so none of the students had noticed, but the itching had become more and more unbearable by the moment, and Dolores was soon twitching in her seat trying to refrain from frantically scratching herself.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Harry Potter stare at her with a politely disinterested look on his face, and then turn back to his book. She spotted his lip twitch with amusement though, and fury welled up in her.

She was about to assign the little brat so many detentions he would forget what not being in pain was like, when her skin throbbed, and the itch became so unbearable that she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Class dismissed!" she gasped, and sprinted out of the classroom and towards her private quarters as fast as her chubby little legs could carry her.

Once in her own room, she drew a cold bath, and sunk into it, shuddering. As the minutes passed, the unbearable itch slowly started abating, and Dolores sunk back in the bathtub, closing her eyes in exhaustion.

Someone was after her. She didn't know who or why- the list of people she had angered and trod on was endless, but she was genuinely scared. Dolores didn't know what would happen to her next, she had no way of anticipating or preventing it, and she could feel her heart racing unhealthily fast at the prospect of what her enemy might have in store from her.

She got out of the bathtub, shuddering slightly and not really sure if it was because of the cold temperature of the water, or as a result of fear.

Dolores stared at the water running out of the drain in swirls while wrapping a towel around herself feeling utterly exhausted, when she spotted movement. Crawling out of the drain was a fairly large spider. Dolores shuddered with exhausted relief- the torture of anticipation was almost as bad as the itching had been, and then looked more closely at the spider.

Black, thin legs, and a fat hump-shaped body covered with red splotches. Dolores had encountered these kind of spiders occasionally in the old and dirty home of her childhood enough times to recognize that breed and know that they were poisonous. She would proceed with caution.

Grabbing a shoe from the pile on the floor where she had left her clothes, Dolores lifted it high over her head, and imagined with satisfaction how ugly the spider would look smeared at the bottom of the bathtub, when it shifted, and another spider came up out of the drain after it.

Dolores watched in frozen horror as more and more spiders crawled out of the drain after it, swarming up the bathtub and in her direction. She let out an almighty shriek, and sprinted out of the bathroom as quickly as she could, shutting the door behind her. Breathing heavily, she sat down on her bed, gasping and shaking, only to sprint back up again, when an incredibly long and black tentacle felt its way out from under the bed.

She jumped off her bed, and sprinted out of the room, but not before she caught a glimpse of what had been hiding under there- more spiders, and these were  _huge._  In fact, they were probably growing Acromantulas- no mundane spider could ever get so big. They looked like they could have reached her middle had they caught up with her. Dolores sprinted out into the halls of Hogwarts, shutting the door behind her, and casting a locking spell at the opening to her quarters. She took comfort in the thought that these spiders, at least, would not be able to crawl out from under the crack in the door.

Outside her rooms, everything that had happened finally caught up to her, and she sank to the ground, trembling severely.

An hour, a trip to the hospital wing, and a calming draught later, and Dolores was once again ready to head back to her room. She had a black cloak she had borrowed from Professor Sprout, who had been the one to find her trembling outside her rooms, and she had her wand with her, courtesy of Minerva who had volunteered to return to her room to fetch it.

She was the only person Dolores would trust to return to her rooms, given that no matter how sure Dolores was that Minerva despised her, she was also sure the Deputy Headmistress was too rule-abiding and straight-laced to have anything to do with what was happening to her.

McGonagall had returned holding Dolores's wand, and looking at Dolores with quite a skeptical look on her face. She primly and calmly informed Dolores and Poppy Pomfrey that she could see absolutely no spiders, and that she thought Dolores should be checked for mind-altering potions.

The test turned up nothing though, the drug she had been given earlier must have already left her system (Dolores refused to consider the fact that she had not been drugged, but rather was going crazy), and Dolores managed to reassure Poppy, who was looking at Dolores as if she were bound to have a psychotic break at any second, that the spider incident was probably a prank pulled by some students and not due to any mental disease on her part.

Dolores was cautious when she finally entered her quarters once more, but wasn't nearly as frightened as she should have been, thanks to the calming draught. She felt worry about what was waiting in store for her next, but it was a faint nagging at the back of her mind rather than the heavy weight on her chest, obstructing her breathing, that it was before.

Holding her wand at the ready, Dolores slowly peered around the room, trying to detect any movement, and entered the bedroom cautiously. She shrieked when she spotted a big black shape on the floor, only to clutch her chest in relief once she realized that it was only the shadow that a pile of clothes on her bed had cast against the wall and floor.

Once she had peeked under the bed, and was sure that there was no foreign presence in her room, that nothing was there that shouldn't be, Dolores finally allowed herself to relax, and started tidying up the room- one of the Acromantulas seemed to have crawled onto her desk and knocked a cup of tea to the floor. She shuddered as she waved her wand to clear the mess.

Entering the bathroom, Dolores bent down to pick up her clothes, still scattered all over the floor from when she had discarded them in her haste to wash her skin and soothe the itch.

Straightening up, clothes in her hands, Dolores felt her heart stop in horror for what must have been the dozenth time that day. A very familiar black quill was hovering in midair, just above her head. She gave a cry of pain as she saw the quill start to form words in midair and felt her own skin get cut open as the quill used her blood as ink.

She watched, frozen and breathing heavily, as the quill formed a sentence.

**Harry Potter is mine alone to torture and kill.**

**Stay away from him.**

**Lord Voldemort**

There was a crash as Dolores fell to the floor in a dead faint. A lone spider scuttled across her face, into the bathtub, and back down the drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go- so many of you were eager to see Umbridge's revenge, that I made it into a whole chapter. I hope it was satisfying, though I know some of you were hoping for actual torture and gore.


	13. Chapter 12

Harry grinned with satisfaction as he watched Umbridge slump to the floor. A second later, he was no longer able to suppress the giggling he had been holding in all day, and burst out laughing.

He saw Sherlock and Tom looking at each other, and beginning to chuckle as well, and very soon, the three of them were seated on the wet floor of Umbridge's bathroom, clutching their stomachs and wheezing with laughter, invisibility cloak discarded behind them.

Harry let out the kind of long satisfied sigh you give after having an especially satisfying laugh, and slowly rolled his neck, cracking it in process. The invisibility cloak wasn't as roomy as it had been when he was eleven years old, and he was feeling rather cramped.

Tom looked down at Umbridge's prone body morosely "I don't feel like we did enough." he said.

Harry shrugged, grinning. "Well, I found it very satisfying. Especially that part at the end, I didn't actually think she would faint. You're such a drama queen, Tom, with the floating bloody message, and the 'Harry Potter is mine alone to torture'. It seems to have worked, though."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't think it was dramatic enough; 'Stay away from him' is way too tame, you should have added something like 'or you'll beg for a Dementor's Kiss', that's would have been more threatening."

Tom rolled his eyes "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now, and anyways, like Harry said, it was still pretty effective. I made her faint!" Sherlock looked like he was about to open his mouth to argue, but Tom had sounded quite defensive, so Harry kicked him, and Sherlock closed his mouth again.

Instead, he got up, stretched, and held out a hand each to help Harry and Tom up. They started heading out of the bathroom, but Tom paused to look longingly back at Umbridge's prone body.

"It's such a perfect opportunity- she's just lying there, completely vulnerable. It would be such a waste to just leave her like that without pulling one last thing."

"No." said Sherlock firmly "After she receives the threat we need to leave her alone. If she thinks she'll get punished whether she hurts Harry or not, she'll just take all her anger out on Harry. Anyways, I'm guessing you put the itching powder in all her clothes, since you didn't know which outfit she would choose to wear today. So her suffering isn't over quite yet."

Tom grinned nastily in satisfaction, but Harry saw him clench his teeth as he stared back at Umbridge. Tom had been so silent and composed that Harry had not realized until now just how angry he was at Umbridge. The realization that Tom cared quite a bit warmed Harry, and he was feeling distinctly cheery as he pulled Sherlock out of the bathroom and off to explore Hogwarts.

Since Defense Against the Dark Arts was the last lesson of the day, Harry had the whole afternoon to show Sherlock around. Sherlock, though very excited about seeing the school, had been enthusiastic about the strangest of things. Though the enchanted doorways and moving staircases had held no charm for him, he had been quite enthusiastic about the Forbidden Forest.

To Harry's surprise, Sherlock seemed to take an intense dislike to the portraits. Only after a bit of prodding on Harry and Tom's part, were they able to hear the problem and reassure Sherlock that portraits only had memories that their subject imparted upon them while living. Therefore, if their subject was murdered, they would be unable to tell any investigators how it happened thereby making murder investigations boring. Sherlock seemed quite happy to hear that, and cheered up immediately.

Harry had expected that the things he loved about Hogwarts would differ from Sherlock's, so his dismissal of the beautiful lake in favor of the most dangerous greenhouse came as no surprise.

Due to his possession of the Marauder's Map, Harry was very confident in his knowledge of the school's hidden rooms and secret passages, which was why he was quite surprise when Tom introduced them to a room he had never seen before.

Pacing three times in front of a rather comical tapestry of trolls dressed in tutus, Tom came to a full stop in front of a blank wall, and Harry's mouth dropped as a door appeared in the wall.

To be honest, Harry was a bit miffed over not having ever discovered the room- he took great pride in the fact that he knew the layout of the school better than anyone else, and was rather put out over the fact that Tom, who had been a goody-two-shoes and a prefect in his day, seemed to have explored the school even more than he had.

Of course, his displeasure was soon forgotten when he caught sight of the room. It was huge, and scattered with sofas, cushions and books, there was even a bed in one corner of the room. Harry mourned all the relaxing evenings he could have spent in such a nice room, when he had been stuck in noisy Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore Ron and Hermione's bickering and protect his homework from stray projectiles that always seemed to be flying about when Fred and George were present.

And that was nothing to what Harry felt when Tom finally explained the function of the room. A room that could turn into anything, according to the wishes of the person who summoned it!

For some reason, Harry felt a sense of déjà vu, though he was sure he had never been to the room before. It took him a second to realize why.

"You know," he said slowly "I think Dumbledore mentioned this room once."

Tom paled so fast, that Harry jumped out of the sofa he had sunk into with concern.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"You said Dumbledore mentioned this room?" asked Tom anxiously "What did he say?"

Harry was extremely puzzled by Tom's worry, but Sherlock had the smug look on his face which meant he had figured out something extremely clever.

"One breakfast I heard him tell one of the professors that he needed to use the loo really badly, when suddenly a room appeared with a huge array of different toilets. I thought it might have been this room. Why is it so important?" Harry himself found the story slightly amusing- Dumbledore, stumbling over the most astounding and useful room in the whole school, and using it to relieve himself.

Tom had relaxed marginally when he heard that story "Trust the old man to talk about bowel movements over breakfast. It doesn't matter."

"Oh yes," replied Sherlock "you should be fine. If Dumbledore only used the room in that way, there's no reason he should have found your Horcrux. Or is it Horcruxes? No, you wouldn't be stupid enough to hide them all in one place, Horcrux it is."

Tom sighed, "I wish you wouldn't do that. Yes, I hid a Horcrux here. I more or less trust you and Harry not to try to harm me, but I would have rather it stayed a secret."

Sherlock sniffed. "It's a stupid place for a Horcrux anyways, where anyone could stumble upon it accidentally. You should move it."

"I'm planning to." replied Tom. He had them all exit the room and stand in front of the blank wall, which they now knew hid the room Tom called 'The Room of Requirement'.

Three more times pacing if front of the wall, and a new door appeared. Harry looked around with fascination. "Did you create all this to disguise the Horcrux? That seems like a really good idea- amongst all this rubbish, no one would even know which of the thousands of objects here is your Horcrux."

Tom shook his head. "I didn't think of it when I thought of what I needed for the room. I'm not sure if the room came up with all this junk on its own, or if these objects are all different artifacts people have wanted to hide over the years. Come, it's this way."

Harry started following Tom, but Sherlock, who had bent down to examine a bloodied ax, waved for them to move on without him. As they walked, Harry explained to Tom Sherlock's fascination with solving crimes. Tom snorted and said he'd noticed.

A couple minutes' walk into the room later, as Harry becoming more and more overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of objects hidden in it, they came to a stop in front of an old cabinet, and Tom bent over to pick up a rather old looking object thrown half-hazardly behind it.

Privately, Harry thought that it was a rather brilliant way to hide the Horcrux- thrown casually on the floor; no one would guess how important this artifact was, but all his respect for Tom vanished when he caught sight of just what the Horcrux was.

"A  _tiara_?" he giggled "You hid your soul inside a pretty crown?"

Tom scowled, but Harry could sense his reluctant amusement. He wondered for a second how he could sense it, since Tom's scowl was rather convincing, and ended up attributing it to the magical connection forged between them all those years ago.

"This isn't a tiara," said Tom "it's a diadem. And it happens to be the very diadem that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It's said that it gives infinite wisdom to the person who wears it."

"And does it?" asked Harry curiously.

Tom frowned. "If it did, do you really think I would have hidden it in a place as exposed as this with no protections?"

"Shame." mused Harry "Infinite wisdom sounds like such a useful thing to have."

Tom laughed and patted him on the head patronizingly. "You seem to be doing just fine without the diadem."

They joined Sherlock, who had in the meantime discarded the ax ("It was just animal blood, boring!"), and was now examining the Horcrux.

"Why something so conspicuous?" he demanded "You would have done much better to put it in an empty coke can where no one would pay any attention to it. You have many enemies who would be quite happy to see you die, by putting your Horcruxes in such obvious vessels you are only assisting them!"

Tom rolled his eyes "I know, okay? I wasn't in my right mind when I did it. Anyways, the whole point of all my research into Horcruxes is so that I can remove them from all the obvious objects I put them in."

Sherlock sighed arrogantly. "Your life would have been so much easier had you met me a couple of years earlier."

"Oh, I think it's turned out for the best," replied Tom nonchalantly "I can't imagine having to deal with your bigheadedness for all that additional time."

Harry snickered.

"Don't you gain up on me too!" growled Sherlock at Harry "If  _you_ 'd known me a couple years earlier you wouldn't have nearly died nearly every year since you began learning magic."

"You're right." replied Harry fondly, deciding not to agitate Sherlock any farther "It would have been quite nice to have met years ago."

Tom nodded solemnly, and then sighed. "Well, I should probably get this to a safe place." he gestured at the diadem "I guess I'll see you around."

"Wait!" called Sherlock, before Tom had a chance to summon Yorry "Don't summon your elf yet, I want to try something first."

He made them all leave the room, and then paced three times in front of the wall. Curiously, Harry pushed the new door that appeared open. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at, and then he grinned widely. "A tunnel. Brilliant!"

"Of course it is." replied Sherlock "Well, shall we?"

Fifteen minutes later and quite a steep climb uphill, Tom crossly announced that getting his elf to apparate him home would have been much quicker. Harry, on the other hand, was thrilled that he'd be able to visit either Tom or Sherlock whenever he pleased.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, and emerging into an unfamiliar sitting room, Harry caught his first glimpse of Tom's house. It had been willed to him by Evan Rosier, a Death Eater that had died during the first war, and Tom seemed to take great delight in the thought of what Rosier would have said had he known Tom would bring a muggle into the house.

As it was approaching curfew by that point, Harry reluctantly pointed out that he needed to head back to school. He suggested they meet up the next weekend though, and use the Room of Requirement as a swimming pool.

"I've never been to a swimming pool before." mused Tom "What's it like?"

Sherlock frowned. "I've been to a pool once; I was investigating a murder at the time. I wasn't impressed."

"Investigating a murder and going swimming are not the same thing." said Harry serenely "Anyways, I've never been to a swimming pool either, but it always seemed like fun. I want to try it."

With a shrug, Tom conceded, and Sherlock did as well, but not before rolling his eyes dramatically at the perceived horror of doing something boring.

Bidding them both a reluctant goodbye, Harry slowly headed back down the tunnel and towards his school.

* * *

"Well," said Tom yawning "I suppose to need me to apparate you home. I'm pretty sure I got a good look at your room while you were getting your clothes, so getting there shouldn't be a problem from now on. Come."

Sherlock grasped Tom's proffered hand, but Tom shook his head. "Humans apparating isn't the same as when house-elves do it. Grab onto my forearm as tight as you can." Sherlock raised his eyebrows teasingly, and was surprised to see Tom blush in response.

He grasped Tom's arm tightly, and a second later experienced a familiar squeezing sensation. They both landed in Sherlock's room, Sherlock gasping for breath and Tom looking perfectly calm.

"I want to talk to you about something." said Sherlock seriously to Tom, once he had regained his breath.

Tom raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't want to talk about it in front of Harry." said Sherlock, answering the unasked question.

Now Tom looked serious too. "What is it?"

"Well, it's not that I wasn't happy to punish the bitch for what she did to Harry," began Sherlock, watching Tom nod fiercely in return, an ugly scowl on his face "but Harry's Professor Umbridge isn't his real problem in school."

"What do you mean?"

"It's Albus Dumbledore." said Sherlock slowly, weighing each word carefully as he tried to correctly describe the situation "Harry looks up to him tremendously; he won't hear me say a bad word about him. When I've pointed out everything Dumbledore has done to him, Harry agreed that it was suspicious, and he was definitely angry with Dumbledore, but he keeps on defending him. Dumbledore left him on the doorstep of an abusive home, almost directly admitted to pushing Harry to chase after the Philosopher's Stone, allowed him to fight in the Triwizard Tournament with no extra help or guidance, despite his great disadvantage and has kept the prophecy a secret from him despite the huge impact it has had on his life.

"It is quite clear to me that Dumbledore does not have Harry's best interests at heart, and his main goal is to encourage Harry to fight and defeat you. Harry understands that logically, but you saw what he was like the second he came back from his talk with Dumbledore- he was feeling guilty for siding with you and protecting himself. A boy my age, and he feels guilty for not killing a Dark Lord with decades of experience on his side. That's not healthy. Dumbledore encourages Harry to think only of fighting Voldemort selflessly, and if there's anyone who can get to Harry it's definitely him."

Tom was silent for a while. "What do you want me to do?" he finally said helplessly "Dumbledore isn't a cowardly Ministry employee who can be threatened or cajoled into leaving Harry alone. He's a powerful wizard- both in terms of magic and influence, and he isn't the type to give up because we sent some spiders up his drain and wrote a message in blood. I honestly can't think of anything we can do to convince him to leave Harry alone. Well, other than kill him, that is, but the last thing we need is for him to become a martyr in Harry's eyes."

Sherlock sighed. "I was afraid you would say that. Based on Harry's descriptions of him, and based on his actions, I would say that Dumbledore is the type of man who feels he is responsible for the whole world. His desire to have Harry defeat you stems from him wanting to bring peace to England, and he won't let anything stand in his way, not even himself.

"Since I never met him, I was reluctant to make any deductions. I was hoping you would say something different- that he could be coerced and bribed, but I was aware that the chances of me being wrong were slim."

"So what do we do?" asked Tom, frustration evident in his voice.

"Unless you can convince Dumbledore that leaving Harry alone will benefit the greater good of Britain, there's nothing we can really do. Nothing concrete, at least. We need to talk to Harry, remind him that it's okay to want what's best for him, support him, and say things to discredit Dumbledore as often as possible."

Tom growled. "That's hardly a satisfying plan."

"Well," said Sherlock "it's all we can do for now. And in any case, I said I didn't think pulling tricks on Dumbledore like we did to Umbridge would work, I didn't say we shouldn't do it anyways, just for the satisfaction."

Tom seemed to brighten.

"We'll need a different plan of attack, of course, when it comes to Dumbledore, as he is quite a different person." continued Sherlock.

"I knew that man quite well during my school days." Tom responded, "He'll just laugh along with any joke we play on him. What we need to play on is his sense of decency and morality. I have some ideas."

The three of them- Sherlock, Tom and The Skull grinned widely.

* * *

Hermione frowned as she watched Harry enter the common room with a very big grin on his face. He smiled brightly at her as he plopped down next to her on the couch and used his wand to summon his book bag, and began doing his homework, an easy smile still on his face.

"Where's Ron?" he inquired curiously.

She stared at him. "He said he needed to set his bed and headed off half an hour ago. He's obviously procrastinating because he doesn't want to do his homework. The better question to ask would be- where were you?"

Harry shrugged. "Here and there."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, it's obvious that you're keeping something from me and Ron. It's not that you're not allowed to have your secrets, or things that are just yours, but it's just that you never did before. If there's something you don't want to tell me it's your right to keep it to yourself, I just miss the days where you would tell Ron and I everything."

Harry looked down at his hands contemplatively.

Hermione stayed quiet and allowed him to think about what she said, as she herself mused over the change in her relationship with Harry. It was obvious to her that Harry had changed over the summer, and it looked like the change was good. Harry was in high spirits quite often considering the amount of ridicule and spite he was enduring from his peers as well as all the detentions from Professor Umbridge.

Ever since their very first year at Hogwarts, Harry was always so serious. Even when he was being lighthearted and playful, there was still a solemn undertone to the way he spoke, like a person who was shouldering a heavy burden of duty.

It was understandable considering all the times awful things were about to happen and Harry was the only one who could help. Regrettable as it was, it was natural that that should cause Harry to feel as if he was burdened with the responsibility for everything bad that happened in the school. Hermione had not even noticed it, until she first saw Harry this year looking freer and less worried than she had ever seen him. And it started this year of all years- the year where Voldemort regained his body. One would think Harry would feel even more burdened than he had ever felt before, but he was acting surprisingly carefree. He bore the scorn and vitriol from the students who called him crazy with surprising dignity and composure, looking like he hardly cared, despite the fact that this was much worse than what he had endured last year when he was entered into the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry had changed and grown, and though Hermione was happy for him, she mourned the fact that the change had caused him to distance himself slightly from her and Ron.

Finally, Harry spoke. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. I've also been feeling a bit like we've been growing apart, and I don't want that to happen. You've always been my most loyal friend. I need to keep some things a secret from you, though, and I'm sorry."

Hermione tried to hide her hurt. "Harry, you just said I've been your most loyal friend. I followed you in through the trapdoor in first year, through the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and back in time in third year, I believed you about not putting your name in the Goblet in fourth year, and you know that if I hadn't been petrified I'd have followed you down to the Chamber of Secrets in second. No matter what's happened over the years I've stayed your friend. So if you don't want to tell me because you feel it's personal, fine. But just know that I would keep all your secrets and stay your friend no matter what."

Harry smiled at her, but then sighed and looked down again. "Hermione, let me just say that it involves rule-breaking. You don't want to know about it or be a part of it, and honestly, I'm not sure I trust you not to tell on me. Remember the Firebolt in third year?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could. "Harry, I may be a goody-two-shoes, but your friendship means so much more to me than sticking to the rules does. If this secret is what keeping us apart, then I promise you I won't ever tell anyone about it unless I think it will cause you harm. Don't forget that you've broken dozens of school rules in front of me, and the only time I went to Professor McGonagall is when I was afraid that the Firebolt would hurt you. If this secret isn't harming anyone, I swear you can tell me and I won't say a word. I don't want this to be the thing that dooms our friendship."

"Okay, I get it." said Harry ruefully "I'm sorry for doubting you. And I still don't want to tell you all of it, but I'll tell you some."

Hermione leaned forward eagerly. She may not have been a gossip like Lavender and Paravati were, but she was incredibly intrigued by the fact that Harry admitted he was keeping something from her and would now tell her what it was.

Harry shook his head. "Not here. There are too many people who might overhear. Let's find somewhere private."

"I don't know if we'll be able to find somewhere like that. Curfew begins in about five minutes, and Neville is already up in the dormitory with Ron. This is about as private a place as we'll be able to find."

"Well," said Harry, a challenging gleam in his eyes "that's what invisibility cloaks were made for."

Hermione groaned, but her desire to share Harry's secret won out and she agreed to find an empty classroom in which to have their conversation despite the approaching curfew.

"Oi!" called Seamus after them as they exited the common room "Curfew's in five! If you get caught and lose points, I'll kill you both!"

"You're one to talk!" snapped Hermione back "You think I don't know about all your late night excursions with Elsie Davis?"

Seamus leered shamelessly, as he replied "Yes, but I know how to keep quiet, don't I? From what I've seen in our Defense lessons, Harry doesn't actually know how to do that!"

There was a smatter of giggling from around the common room as Hermione pulled Harry out of the portrait-hole angrily, though not before Harry managed to shoot a Full Body-Bind hex at Seamus.

Hermione gained great satisfaction from the sound of the thump as Seamus fell over and hit his head against the floor.

"Honestly, Harry!" she scolded, but she couldn't suppress her grinning, "You shouldn't have done that! As a prefect I have to reprimand you. As your friend, of course, I think it was rather satisfying to see the berk get what he deserves."

Harry was laughing as they walked down the hall until they were no longer in view of the portrait of the Fat Lady, and pulled on his invisibility cloak.

Quickly locating an empty classroom nearby, Harry locked the door and Hermione cast an alarm charm that would alert them should anyone approach the room. Secretly, she felt a bit peeved that Harry had no idea the charm she had just used was N.E.W.T. level. She was quite proud of herself for accomplishing it, but she wasn't going to brag about it of her own volition though she had been secretly hoping that Harry would notice.

"Well?" she asked, settling down to sit on one of the desks in the classroom next to Harry "What's the big secret?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't think it's nearly so exciting as you seem to think it is. I'm just keeping it a secret because it's illegal. I don't even know if you'll find it interesting."

"Well," said Hermione impatiently "it's important enough that you spend much less time with us than you used to and caused you to disappear all day yesterday without a word- well, I'm not actually sure about that.  _Was_  your disappearance yesterday related to that?"

Harry nodded.

"So?" said Hermione curiously "Tell me about it!"

"Well," said Harry "it happened this summer. A new family moved in to the house right next to the Dursleys'. Well, I say family; it's really just a mother and her son. There's another son as well, but he doesn't live at home anymore and I've never met him. Anyways, the son, Sherlock, he's about our age- a bit older, and he's a real genius. I mean, you're smart in that you know a lot and have a great memory and understand things easily, but Sherlock's freaky smart. He can tell things about people just from a five-minute observation that I wouldn't be able to figure out in a million years.

"So he saw me once or twice during the summer and he managed to figure out that the Dursleys' weren't treating me right- he saw Uncle Vernon strangling me or something one day."

Hermione flinched. Harry had said it so casually, as if it didn't matter, but every time Harry spoke of his treatment at the hands of his family Hermione felt sick. She tried to swallow back her nausea at the casual mention of Harry's uncle's behavior, knowing she could do nothing to help her friend.

"So after the dementor incident, the Uncle Vernon had me locked in my room and Sherlock decided to break me out. I mean, he could have just called the police, but he'd spotted Hedwig flying around my house and a couple other suspicious things, and he wanted to see if he could figure out what I was hiding. So when the Dursleys went away one night, he broke into their house and picked the lock on my door, and I wasn't really expecting a muggle to waltz in, so I just had my schoolbooks thrown all over the place, including the one with a picture of Lockhart waving on the cover, so it didn't take him long to figure out I could do magic.

"He told me if I wanted I could hide from the Dursleys at his house and in exchange I'd tell him more about the magical world. I figured he'd already technically knew about the wizarding world through no fault of mine, so it couldn't hurt to tell him more. Plus, you have no idea how much I wanted to get away from the Dursleys, and I had no clue that some people were coming to take me to Sirius's house, I only found out later, so this seemed like my only chance to escape. Long story short, I took it, and Sherlock and I became really good friends so I decided I didn't want to leave his house even if I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys."

Hermione gaped. She couldn't help herself. "So all the time and effort the Order of the Phoenix put into trying to find you, you were just a house down?"

Harry's expression became serious. "Hermione, I'm planning on staying there next summer, and you  _can't_ tell them where I am. You  _can't_! You need to swear you won't!"

"Well," she said slowly, considering it "I promise not to tell them unless I think it's an emergency and it's really important. Otherwise I'll keep my mouth shut. I don't think You-Know-Who would be able to find you any more than the Order will be, they'll simply have no reason to look at a muggle house, so I don't see why you shouldn't be able to keep it secret. I'll tell them though if something really urgent or important happens."

"Fair enough." replied Harry "Just know that if I find out you told them where I was and it wasn't absolutely necessary, I'll never forgive you, so think carefully before you decide if something's enough of an emergency to sell me out."

Hermione quickly shook her head. She would not soon forget the misery of being completely estranged from both her best friends back in third year after telling Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She wasn't sorry she had done it, but she would definitely be one hundred percent sure she was protecting Harry before speaking to any adults.

"I have to say, Harry," she began contemplatively "I really did think it would be something more significant than just making a muggle friend, simply because you've changed so much over the summer. It's a good thing," she hastened to add, "You seem happier now. I just thought you must have experienced something much more significant in order to have changed so much. I didn't know one friend could make so much of a difference." She secretly wondered why she, one of Harry's closest friends, couldn't make him as happy as a muggle he had only known for a couple of weeks had. An idea suddenly dawned on her, and she looked at Harry in a new light.

"What?" asked Harry defensively, which made Hermione conclude she was gaping at him quite obviously.

"It just occurred to me," answered Hermione "that usually making a new friend doesn't have such an impact on a person and doesn't make them as happy as you've been these past couple of days, but falling in love does have that effect."

It took Harry a few moments to catch on before he squawked with embarrassment and shook his head vigorously. "He's a  _boy_ , Hermione. And he's just a friend!"

Hermione shrugged. "So what if he's a boy? Don't be judgmental, Harry. Look, if you say you're just friends then I believe you, but he seems to have had quite an impact on your life for someone who's 'just a friend'."

This caused Harry to pause and contemplate her words. "I don't think it's just about making a new friend." he replied slowly "It's more about the fact that I did something just because it would make me happy and for no other reason other than that. I went against Dumbledore's orders for once, and I did it for the best possible reason- because it was good for me. Every year since I started Hogwarts has been so stressful; I've always been led to situations in which I was the only one who could do something to prevent something awful from happening. With the Philosopher's Stone, none of the adults would listen to me, so I had to go after it myself, in second year, I was the only one who could speak Parseltongue so it had to be me again, to deal with the problem, I guess I just got used to feeling like whenever something bad happened, it was my job to deal with it and prevent it. Just doing something for myself for once, talking to a boy who could be completely objective and showed me how ridiculous it was for me to try to save the world, it really helped. I no longer feel like it's all on me."

Hermione beamed. "That's a great attitude to have, Harry. I'm very happy to know you won't be feeling stressed all year because of You-Know-Who's return. You deserve to do something for yourself and leave the worrying about the serious stuff to the people who are meant to deal with it."

"Yes," agreed Harry, "I am much happier now. The only thing that's been ruining it has been Umbridge." For some incomprehensible reason, he was grinning as he said this. Personally, Hermione couldn't understand why he would grin when speaking of her, just the thought of that self-righteous sadistic cow made her blood boil.

"Good thing I won't have to deal with her bloody detentions anymore." he said, looking quite smug.

"Oh good," she agreed, "I'm glad you're not planning on provoking her anymore, Harry. I know she's absolutely infuriating, and I myself would dearly love to punch her, but that would just be playing into her hands."

"Oh," said Harry airily "that's not why I won't have to deal with it anymore."

"Harry?" she asked suspiciously "Did you do something to her? You look like the cat that got the canary."

"I'll tell you," teased Harry "if you promise not to take points."

"Oh come on, Harry!" she snapped impatiently "As if I'd deduct any points for anything you did to that horrid cow. Whatever it was, she had it coming. Wait! Did you have something to do with her bolting out of the classroom earlier today looking like her skirt was on fire?" she gasped "And the rumors that some kids saw her running down a hallway wearing only a towel? I thought for sure someone had made that up! Did you have something to do with it?"

Harry's grin widened. After an impatient kick from her, he relented, and began to tell her about his revenge against Umbridge.

Apparently, he and Sherlock had invaded the Acromantula nest in the forbidden forest, visited the muggle world, snuck into Knockturn Alley disguised, and then- worst of all- invaded Professor Umbridge's own private quarters.

"You would be in so much trouble if you were ever discovered!" she whispered, torn between disapproval and amusement "But despite how very satisfying that might have been, what makes you think she'll leave you alone now? She might just take her frustration about everything that happens to her out on you!"

"Wait, I haven't reached the best part yet." And Harry told her about the threatening message written in her blood.

"Oh Harry!" said Hermione, struggling desperately not to begin laughing, "That isn't a laughing matter!"

"Don't pretend you don't find it as funny as I do!" demanded Harry.

"Well it is quite hilarious," she admitted "but it was also very stupid. Who's to say she'll really believe it's from You-Know-Who? She's been insisting this whole time that You-Know-Who isn't back; do you really think she'll believe it was him? Your note probably clued her into the fact that it was you who did all those awful things to her!"

"She certainly seemed to believe it." replied Harry calmly "The second she finished reading it she fainted dead away. I don't think I inspire that much fear in her, Voldemort probably does, though."

She flinched at the name. It was silly, and she wasn't really scared of Voldemort suddenly attacking her because she said his name, but in the wizarding world, people reacted so strongly to the name that it always made her feel as if 'Voldemort' was some really awful curse-word that simply wasn't said in public. Hearing it sounded indecent somehow.

"I don't understand why she would believe it was him when she was so convinced you were lying about him being back. What was it about your pranks that suddenly caused her to change her mind?"

Harry shrugged. "The way I see it, she might have believed I was telling the truth all along. She was probably just sucking up to Fudge by discrediting me, but that doesn't mean she actually believes what she's saying. People like her have no principles."

"I suppose you must be right." she conceded "And that actually brings me to another thing I wanted to discuss with you. Whether or not Umbridge will continue to be awful and punish you, she will still remain an awful teacher. This is our O.W.L.s year!" it came out slightly more panicky than she had intended "And we're not going to be allowed to learn any spells! We need to find someone who knows the material and will be willing to teach us properly."

"Yes, but who?" asked Harry, and Hermione noted thankfully that he sounded interested.

"Well, I was thinking it should be you." she replied.

"What? But Hermione, if any of us should teach the others it should be you. You know loads more magic than I do."

Hermione shook her head. "Not in Defense Against the Dark Arts I don't. Harry, you spent all of last year training for the Triwizard Tournament. Remember all the hexes and curses you practiced before the third task?"

"Well, yeah," he said hesitantly "but you and Ron helped me practice all of those so you also know them. The only spell I really know better than you is the Patronus, and that's not even in the O.W.L. exams!"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "This isn't about spell knowledge, Harry, because it's not just about our O.W.L.s. Voldemort's back, and based on what I've heard about the last war, it was a very common scenario for Death Eaters to just show up at a house of a muggle-born and kill everyone in it. This is so much more important than just getting good O.W.L. grades; this is a matter of life and death. You're the only one of us who's had any real experience in actual fighting, and if you can teach us just enough to hold out until the aurors come, it would make such a huge difference."

Harry, who had been shaking his head when she began speaking, froze when she pointed out that he could be saving her life if he taught her. He now wore quite a guilty expression.

Oh dear, Hermione hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. She thought it was ridiculous that Harry would feel guilty about something he had so little control over like what had happened at the graveyard, but she was given to understand that it was quite common for someone who had undergone what he had to experience survivor's guilt.

Before she could start reassuring him, though, Harry's expression had already hardened, and he looked at her with newfound resolve in his eyes. "I'll teach you and Ron how to defend yourselves. It's the least I can do."

"Actually," said Hermione slowly, knowing she was broaching the subject that was likely to raise the most resistance, "I was thinking that maybe you shouldn't teach just me and Ron. There are so many people in this school that know even less than we do about Defense, and they could be in just as much danger as we do. I think they should have a chance to learn as well."

Harry scoffed bitterly. "In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, the whole school thinks I'm completely nutters. Who would want to learn from the crazy, attention-seeking, Harry Potter?"

"People who want to pass their O.W.L.s for a start." she replied "Even if they don't believe you that Voldemort's back, there are some accomplishments of yours no one can deny- you saved Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets and you won the Triwizard Tournament despite being the youngest contestant. Everyone last year saw you practicing advanced defensive spells in preparation for the third task. Trust me, people will want to learn from you. In addition, this might give you a chance to convince everyone that he really is back!"

"I don't care about convincing them!" snarled Harry "They can think what they like for all I care. Tell you what- if you actually find someone other than you and Ron who'll be interested in learning, I'll help them too. Just don't be disappointed if nothing comes of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Harry, I won't. But I highly doubt that will happen. I'll set a meeting later on when I've spoken to a few people and let you know how that turns out."

Harry shrugged unenthusiastically, but finally nodded his agreement. "Just one last thing," he added, as Hermione hugged him gratefully "is Ron in on this plan?"

"Not yet." she said "I was actually planning on broaching the subject with him before asking you, but then we had this conversation, and I thought I might as well ask. Did you tell Ron about your muggle friend?"

It was a reasonable assumption, she thought, seeing as Harry would have been less reluctant to tell Ron about any law-breaking he had done it would have made sense for Harry to have told him. On the other hand, Ron had been acting quite nonchalantly, and he was such an awful actor that Hermione felt that if he was keeping a secret from her she would have been able to tell.

Harry shook his head.

"Why not?" she asked curiously "He's far less likely to get upset over you breaking the rules and telling a muggle about magic than I am. Why tell me and not him?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm not really sure. I just can't imagine him understanding."

"What is there to understand?" asked Hermione suspiciously, but Harry just shrugged evasively again, and it occurred to her that Harry himself might not know.

One thing about Harry was that he was quite oblivious to his own feelings and emotions. After all, he claimed he wasn't in love, but Hermione had seen how he lit up whenever he spoke Sherlock's name.

In any case, the only thing she could do was wait, and see what would happen.

They walked back to the common room together squished under the invisibility cloak, and Hermione once again felt the familiar and nostalgic sensation of companionship and comradery.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore hummed softly to himself as he poured himself a nice cup of tea and settled down in front of his desk to drink it while answering correspondence.

Unfortunately for Albus, he was a very busy man, and so, unlike his comrades, could not simply receive owls at all hours of the day and answer his letters as they came- he'd never get anything done. Instead, he had a little box on his table on which he put all his letters as he got them, and every few days he would sort through the different letters and reply to the ones that required answering. His pile of mail was quite smaller than it used to be thanks to Fudge no longer corresponding with him as well as having been kicked out of the Wizengamot, but it was still quite considerable.

He took a soothing sip of tea as he opened the first letter. It was a missive from Mundungus Fletcher telling him that he had spotted Harry Potter and his friends organizing a Defense Against the Dark Arts club in the Hog's Head.

Albus rolled his eyes as he read it. Though it seemed that it only occurred to Mundungus now to inform him, the secret meeting in the Hog's Head had happened a full fortnight ago. Since then, countless Order members had already informed him of the meeting, Dolores Umbridge had passed a new educational decree and a diverse collection of fifth-year students from every house but Slytherin could be found randomly roaming the seventh floor of the castle two or three times a week before disappearing.

He decided that the letter did not require a reply, and threw it in to Fawkes's cage, where it would be eventually incinerated.

Picking up the next letter, he smiled.

It was written not on parchment, but rather on plain muggle paper, and Albus received at least one of those every year. It was quite natural that muggle-born students would write to their families describing the wonders of Hogwarts in great detail, and it was just as natural that a sibling who read the letter would be taken with the desire to live in Hogwarts themselves, or at least see it. At least once a year, usually more, Albus would receive a letter that some such child had sent to him in the muggle mail and that the ministry delegate in the muggle post office forwarded on to him.

Granted, the timing of the letter was slightly curious. Usually, Albus received these letters either just before the new school year, when the children started receiving their Hogwarts acceptance letter, or during the first week of school, when the child read the first letter from their sibling, depicting Hogwarts in glowing words. It was unusual to receive a letter from a muggle so far into the school year, so Albus was slightly curious as he opened the envelope.

_Mr. Albus Dumbledore,_

_Greetings. My name is Sherlock Holmes and a friend of mine, Harry Potter learns at your school._

_Normally, I would not write such a personal letter to a headmaster, but you seem strangely involved in Harry's life. Harry tells me that it was you who left him on the doorstep of his family, the Dursleys, when he was a baby. Apparently you are also the reason he returns to that horrid family summer after summer though I'm given to understand he has better places to stay, my own house notwithstanding._

_Harry is my next-door neighbor, and my window faces the window of his bedroom. You might be interested to learn that that was not always his bedroom- he used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs of his house. Over the years I have witnessed him being shouted at, humiliated, and physically hurt by every member of his family at some point in time._

_Often, as a child, he used to take shelter from his horrid family in my house, but ever since he has gone to your strange boarding school (which I have been able to find absolutely no information on in the internet, though Harry assures me any letter addressed to Hogwarts will reach you automatically) Harry has been very secretive about his school-year and will tell me nothing, though he often returns with a new scar. Though I know he has friends in this school that would be happy to take him in for the summer, and though I myself have offered him to leave his family and move in with me, Harry continues to reside with his family. The reason he gives for this is that his headmaster, you, insists that he remains there._

_Though I am suspicious of both you and your school, and though I do not understand what business it is of yours where your student stays over the summer, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Harry is not a complainer and he might not have told you just how bad his home life is. He will follow any orders you give him, though, so I think it very necessary that you know just how bad his life with the Dursleys is before you decide to send him back to it._

_Harry is often made to do chores for hours in the sun and I never see him receive any food or water. Often, I can hear his uncle shouting at him from inside the house, threatening to 'knock the stuffing' out of him, and that's a quote. Harry's never told me if his uncle makes good on his threats. From my room, I can see him sometimes pacing around his in all hours of the day, never leaving, and having food shoved into his room twice a day through a cat-flap in the door. I suspect they lock him in there as punishment._

_I have spoken to the police, but their hands are tied unless Harry himself complains, which is not probable. So please, before you instruct Harry to return to the house of his relatives again, consider what I have said. In addition, I would advise you to first do a background check on a family and how functional they are next time you decide to leave a baby on their front porch._

_Sincerely,_

_Sherlock Holmes._

Albus sighed deeply as he read the letter, and felt a tear run down his face and into his long beard. The note had greatly aggrieved him, though it did not contain any surprises. He knew, of course, when he had put Harry on his aunt and uncle's front porch that he was dooming him to ten miserable years, but he preferred not to think about it.

After all, it was quite necessary for Harry's safety to stay with his odious relatives, so there was really nothing to be done about it. Dwelling on it would just sadden him and tempt him to remove Harry from the home, even though he knew it kept Harry safe. So Albus, with a heavy heart, ignored the signs and bad omens over the years, and tried to allow Harry to leave his aunt and uncle's house as soon as possible.

The letter had brought up many subjects that Albus would much rather stay forgotten. Still, there was nothing he could do about it. The situation remained as it had always been, and Harry still had to stay with at Privet Drive for his own protection.

And speaking of Harry, Albus would have to start speeding up his teaching curriculum. Ideally, there would be gaps of a month or so between each of the lessons he gave Harry about Voldemort, thereby allowing him to slowly become accustomed to the idea of Horcruxes. However, it was looking less and less like this would be an option.

Dolores Umbridge wanted Albus out of Hogwarts, and she would find a way to banish him sooner or later. Perhaps it would be using blackmail, like Lucius Malfoy had done three years ago, though Albus personally thought that it would be through the use of a new 'Educational Decree' of the likes she was passing every few days.

In any case, he would soon be forced to leave Hogwarts, and with less than a year to live, it was crucial that he speed up the pace of the lessons. It was unfortunate that Harry would have to adjust so quickly to the idea of Voldemort's immortality, but he was a strong boy (as the letter from his neighbor just proved) he could handle it.

Taking his quill out of the inkwell on the table, Albus summoned a piece of parchment and set to writing.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come to my office at 8 p.m._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops._

Setting down the quill, he made a note to himself to remember to give the note to a Gryffindor to pass along to Harry, and continued to sort through his correspondence. But despite how hard he tried to shove them out of his mind, Sherlock Holmes's descriptions of Harry's hardships still echoed in his head and weighed down his soul.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while but I'm back on track! Hopefully it won't ever take so long for me to update again... This chapter starts up with a time jump. I hope it doesn't cause too much confusion...

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Sorry I'm late!" Harry announced, breathlessly skidding in to the Room of Requirement. Looking around he gulped, feeling uncomfortable.

True, Neville muttered straight away that it was alright, and Luna seemed perfectly content to be blowing colourful bubbles out of her wand and give them silly faces, but many members of the DA seemed quite disgruntled.

Unlike with any other student that came late, the session couldn't start until Harry arrived, and it seemed as if they had been waiting quite a while. "I lost track of time." he explained lamely, looking around at the scowling faces.

The truth was that he had stayed late on purpose; counting on the fact that Sherlock had the time-turner he had filched from the Department of Mysteries that Harry could use to get back to Hogwarts on time for the latest DA lesson.

It was quite unfortunate that he had only discovered minutes ago that Sherlock had accidentally broken the time-turner within a day of stealing it. When he asked Sherlock how the hell he had managed to do that, the other boy had only blushed and muttered something about physics and it being too complicated for Harry's tiny brain.

"Where've you been?" hollered Fred at him.

"Studying." lied Harry quickly.

"No way!" yelled George, "Not with the huge grin you had on your face coming in! What is it really? Been out snogging some fair lass, and letting us all wait while you satisfied your carnal urges?"

Hermione, Ginny and Cho all glared at George for his crassness.

"No I wasn't." protested Harry, truthfully this time.

If he had been excited entering the room that day, mused Harry as he began the lesson by demonstrating a successful explosion spell, it had been a result of an adrenaline rush rather than anything of a romantic nature.

Earlier that day, Yorry had transported Harry to London, and once there, he had snuck into Grimmauld Place and, during the half-hour gap in which the kitchen was empty, had planted a mirror in one of the cupboards. The mirror was one of a pair, and would transmit whatever occurred around it to the other mirror, which resided in Tom's house, and had a dictation quill standing by it at all times, recording whatever was said in the place where all the Order meetings always took place.

There had been some difficulty in transfiguring the mirror into a seemingly innocuous-looking plate that would not arouse Mad-Eye Moody's suspicions while still allowing it to retain its magical nature, but in the end the result had been successful.

Sherlock, who had been studying magical theory under Tom's tutelage, had figured out how to do it, while Harry completed the actual magic, succeeding on his second try.

In the beginning, Sherlock had displayed absolutely no desire to learn theoretical magics, explaining that there was no point in studying them if he could not put them into practice. It had taken some bribing from Tom, but in the end he had agreed to learn spell theory and Arithmancy in order to help Tom develop spells that might prove themselves useful.

Primarily, the purpose was to create a spell that would allow Tom to transfer his Horcrux from one vessel to another, since Tom's extensive search of the magical library had turned up nothing, but the skill had proven to be useful in other instances such as this one.

Despite Sherlock's refusal to learn anything he didn't deem useful or relevant, Harry knew that the main attraction that crime held for Sherlock was the challenge and satisfaction of solving a difficult puzzle, so it came as no surprised to him that Sherlock ended up enjoying the work immensely.

The idea for the project had actually begun when Tom and Sherlock had been studying together. Harry had been invited to join them, but had found himself drifting off within a few minutes. Spell theory held absolutely no interest for him. It had been Harry's desire to be doing something useful like Sherlock and Tom were that sparked his idea to infiltrate the Order's headquarters.

The first task he had set for himself, with Tom's permission, was showing the Death Eaters the entrance to the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. Wearing a black cloak, white mask, and a spell that deepened his voice, Harry waited as Tom instructed the Death Eaters that they were about to be introduced to one of his spies that had infiltrated the Order.

During his trial at the Ministry three months prior, Arthur Weasley had begged Harry to come with him to a secret safe-house. Harry had refused, preferring to stay with Sherlock, and so Arthur had given him a piece of parchment with the location of the headquarters, explaining that it was under a Fidelius Charm.

Unfortunately, once Harry had read the note, Mr. Weasley incinerated it, so it was impossible for him to pass the note on to Tom. However he had managed to tell Tom that on a certain street in London, in between the numbers 11 and 13, a certain number twelve appeared to have very unusually vanished. Then, he was charged with leading the Death Eaters to the right place under cover of darkness.

It was great to feel so useful, and he had enjoyed the rush.

In the past, during the most important events in Harry's life, the times in which he had done something to be proud of, he was so scared out of his wits and confused that he gained no satisfaction or pride from his actions.

This was new, acting not under duress or panic because there was no other choice, but accomplishing something successfully and with full intention. It was the same feeling he got, he mused as he walked through the Room of Requirement, adjusting Neville's grip on his wand and dodging a stray spell, from teaching the DA- doing something important that he could be proud of.

"Great lesson, Harry!" said Neville quietly to him once the session was over and the crowd began to disperse, "It's so great to know that I'm capable of protecting myself. I doubt I'd be able to do anything against You-Know-Who, but just knowing I might be able to fend a Death Eater off until help comes is a great comfort."

Harry smiled at him weakly, feeling nervous. Neville's words had forced him to acknowledge what he had known all along but had avoided thinking about. The two things that gave him the most satisfaction and pride conflicted with each other in the worst way possible.

What good was he really doing if right after showing his friends how to defend themselves from a Death Eater attack, he showed the very same people the headquarters of the only group brave enough to fight against them? How long could he fight for both teams?

He frowned, then swatted the thought away like a bothersome fly, and joined Ron and Hermione in their walk to Gryffindor Tower, chatting and laughing with them the whole way.

* * *

Tom reclined in his chair, forehead pinched in concentration. Before him lay many different and obscure scrolls of parchment; many scrolls filled with his own scribbled calculations. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the oncoming headache he was developing.

A knock on the door startled him, and he called for the knocker to enter. Sherlock was standing at the door, and a second later, Yorry appeared with a pop holding Harry's hand. Tom glanced at the clock in surprise.

"Is it really such a surprise to see us?" questioned Harry, grinning, "We have been meeting up every Saturday at 8pm for the past two months."

Sherlock was eyeing the scrolls of parchment spread all over his desk. "Lost track of time, have you?"

Tom groaned. "It's the stupid Horcrux problem. Yesterday I hit a dead end. I seem to have proven that it is impossible to separate a Horcrux from one object and move it to another. I've been working all day to try and find a way around it."

"Here, let me have a look." said Sherlock. He quickly strode over to the desk, and Tom pointed him towards the right calculations.

He bent over the numerous scrolls and read through Tom's careful calculations frowning thoughtfully. After a few minutes he straightened up again and nodded, "Yes, I see your problem."

"What is it?" asked Harry curiously. He had participated in their lessons on occasion and had proven to be an intelligent student, but he tended to lose interest and wander off whenever the lessons reached a boring point. He certainly didn't know enough to understand Tom's calculations in any place, so Tom tried to put it in laymans terms for him as he explained.

"Since I could find no reference in any of the books or scrolls on Horcruxes about a spell to move a Horcrux from one vessel to another, I find myself forced to develop a new spell in order so. However, to know what instructions to relay into the new spell, I have to know what the original Horcrux spell does."

"What do you mean? The spell makes a Horcrux, doesn't it?"

"It's not as simple as that." replied Tom, "Take the levitation spell, for instance. You know the spell causes the object it's aimed at to levitate, but how? If the spell levitated a feather, for instance, what caused the feather to levitate? Did the spell cause a gust of wind from under the feather to propel it upwards? Create a vacuum above the feather that caused it to shoot up? Create a physical link between the wand and the feather that caused the feather to rise when you raised your wand in the last portion of the spell?"

"I don't know." answered Harry sheepishly.

"Neither do I." replied Tom, "I've never bothered unraveling the levitation spell. The point is, that it's possible to 'decode', if you will, the movements and incantation of a spell in order to understand how it works.

"That's what we've been doing with the Horcrux spell, only it's been taking quite some time. The Horcrux spell is so complicated it's more of a ritual than a spell. And, of course, its function is so much more complicated than blasting a feather into the air. Anyways, I've finally managed to finish unraveling it last night."

"So what's the problem?"

At this point, Sherlock piped in, "The whole concept of a Horcrux revolves around the object. The spell used to create a Horcrux basically uses the fact that the soul is tied to a physical object to work. Basically speaking, the Horcrux is an inversion of the human body. The soul is everlasting, and does not rely on the body to exist. The Horcrux, however, is created by twisting the laws of nature in order to cause the soul to stay in this realm.

"Therefore, while the body relies on the soul to survive, the soul in a Horcrux relies on its vessel to survive. Once the vessel is destroyed, the 'piece' of soul in it will die. Well, not exactly die, no piece of soul can move on while the other remains here, that's the point of a Horcrux, but it will lose whatever consciousness and function it possesses. It certainly seems as if it will lose the ability to connect to another object."

"So it's impossible to move a Horcrux from one vessel to another?" asked Harry.

"Not necessarily." said Tom thoughtfully, "I think that with enough time I could create a new spell for Horcruxes which wouldn't rely as much on being tied to one physical object. The problem is, that wouldn't change the fact that the spell I used to create  _my_  Horcruxes doesn't allow me to change vessels."

"So what are you going to do?"

Tom grimaced as he answered, "Technically, there is a way to reattach my Horcrux to the original soul and so reverse the process. I could theoretically just reabsorb all my Horcruxes before creating a new one."

"I'm sensing a 'but'." said Harry, making Tom aware of the rather pained expression on his face.

"It's extremely unpleasant and I don't want to do it." he replied simply.

"Doesn't look like you'll have a choice." said Sherlock, frowning as he leafed through a book entitled 'Secrets of the Darkest Art', "All the books seem to agree that it's the only way to reverse a Horcrux."

"What is it?" asked Harry curiously, approaching Sherlock so he could peer at the book from over his shoulder.

"Remorse." replied Tom glumly, and Sherlock elaborated: "In order to create a Horcrux you need to commit murder. In order to reverse it he's got to feel what he's done as if it was done to him, to utterly and completely regret the action that created the Horcrux. He needs to suffer."

Harry winced, and then frowned thoughtfully, "That doesn't sound very scientific. More like Dumbledore telling me the reason I survived the killing curse was love. Is there any logical basis for that?"

"Of course there is. The piece of soul in a Horcrux is connected quite strongly to the vessel it resides in, but it also bears a connection to the original soul, which is what allows the maker of the Horcrux to stay alive after his body is destroyed. If a person feels strong enough remorse for their actions, the soul will heal and the piece of soul residing in the Horcrux will form a stronger connection to the main soul than to its vessel, and separate from the vessel to join with the original body."

Harry didn't look convinced. "So- what? You're just planning on suddenly starting to feel remorse for what you've done?"

"Yes." said Tom simply. As unpleasant as the prospect was, it did seem to be his only option.

"That doesn't make sense!" protested Harry, "If you didn't feel sorry about any of it before hand, how are you suddenly going to start feeling remorse for it now?"

"It's not that I wasn't sorry for what I did beforehand," Tom frowned; the truth was quite to the contrary. Sometimes, when he regained his clarity of mind after a long and destructive period of insanity he felt such deep self-loathing and shame he could hardly bear it. But he would always ignore it, and try to forget, push it away to a deep dark corner of his mind where he wouldn't have to ever deal with it.

"I do feel bad about the things I've done," he explained to Harry, "but I haven't faced it. All it does is depress me, and it's no use worrying about it once it's already been done, so I try not to think about it too much."

"A very healthy approach." said Sherlock approvingly, "It's really quite too bad you won't be able to stick with it. I can't see anything here," he gestured at 'Secrets of the Darkest Arts', "that implies there is another option."

Harry scanned over the passage in the Sherlock had just indicated. Glancing down at at the paper he frowned nervously and turned to Tom, "It says here that the pain of it is so great it could destroy you. I don't think you should do it, Tom."

Tom shrugged dismissively, trying to appear more confident than he felt. "It doesn't mean that literally. It's just that many people when forced to face their actions and come to terms with the evil they've committed lose their sense of self worth and their will to live. Some commit suicide, others just waste away. I have many things to live for. It won't happen to me."

The truth was, that despite how unpleasant the prospect of having to face his misdeeds was, Tom was almost relieved about the necessity of doing it. This was a chance to deal with his past and make peace with it, and stop the moments of terror when he could feel himself loosing his grip on reality only to become aware days later and realize with horror what he had done.

Tom didn't say any of that though. He simply explained to Harry and Sherlock that the risk of him losing his sanity was much higher than the risk that came with restoring his soul. "Don't forget that the last time I died it was because of something idiotic I did while I was insane."

Sherlock seemed to see the logic in that statement, but he made a strange gulping gesture with his throat before promising to help Tom with his quest to reabsorb his Horcruxes.

Harry also seemed quite nervous, but ultimately agreed to help Tom too in any way that he could.

Tom didn't really see what the two could do to help, but nevertheless they promised to be present and help him through the rough experience of attempting to piece back his soul.

Sitting down around the table over a plate of sandwiches (courtesy of Yorry), Tom, Sherlock and Harry discussed the practicalities of the process.

"Technically, the Horcruxes don't need to be present for me to reconnect with the soul inside them," he explained, "but I want to have them with me when I do it. That way I can make sure it actually worked. And if they're not going to be Horcruxes anymore, it's not like it matters if they're going to be protected or not any longer, does it?"

"Of course it doesn't." answered Sherlock shortly, "How many do you have and how much time will it take you to retrieve them all?"

"I started out with six." Tom answered, absently wondering if making it to the magically powerful number of seven would have made a difference, "One was the diary, which Sherlock tells me has already been destroyed by you, Harry."

He stopped short at the sudden look of horror on Harry's face, "You didn't know?"

"How could I?" Harry looked helplessly shocked.

"He wasn't there, Tom." Sherlock reminded him, and then turned to Harry, "While you were out showing the Death Eaters the entrance to the Order's headquarters, Tom and I had begun discussing Horcruxes. It didn't take a detailed description of a Horcrux for me to realize what the diary from your 'Chamber of Secrets' adventure had been, a short talk with Lucius Malfoy confirmed it."

"I killed your Horcrux?" asked Harry, looking horrified by the idea.

Tom frowned deeply, "It was trying to kill you at the time, Harry. I think you are justified in your actions. I don't hold a grudge against you for it, if that's what you're wondering."

"I know that," replied Harry, "but now that I know you, I hate the thought that I, in a way, killed you." He looked sickened.

"We do have quite a bit of unpleasant history between us, Harry." reminded Tom gently, "I tried to kill you three times before."

"I don't like thinking about that. Anyways, Voldemort isn't really the same person as you. It was like a different person who did that."

Tom frowned. It would be very pleasant to think that, but it wasn't exactly true. "Even if you do consider Voldemort to be a different person than me, don't forget that it was my greed for immortality, a greed so great I was willing to kill for, that was the cause for my insanity- for the person you call Voldemort."

Harry winced, "So what? Are you trying to make me hate you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to say that if the penalty for my sins is that a piece of my soul died, saving your life in the process, I am content with that punishment. Merlin knows I deserve that and more, and if my soul's death is the reason you're alive today- so much the better."

At that, Harry, hilariously, blushed.

"Anyways," Tom reminded him, "I still have plenty of Horcruxes left, that's the whole reason for this discussion.

"Now, as I was saying: Six Horcruxes. One was destroyed by Harry. The second- the diadem, you already know I retrieved from Hogwarts. The third and fourth were hidden by me, and it will only take me a few hours to retrieve them. The fifth is Nagini, who is always with me, and that just leaves one. Unfortunately, I had to idea how to retrieve it." Tom stopped there, letting the suspense of the last sentence linger.

Sherlock was quick to break the silence. "And?" he demanded impatiently, "Where is it?"

"I gave it to one of my most loyal followers, Bellatrix Lestrange, to put in her Gringotts account- Gringotts is the wizard bank, Sherlock," he said, pausing to explain at the blank look on his friend's face, "It's considered the most secure bank in the world, no one's ever stolen anything from it. Putting it there was one of my better ideas. The only problem is, Bellatrix is in Azkaban now, and has no way of accessing her account and getting the Horcrux for me."

"So you need to break into the most secure bank in the world?" Sherlock's eyes were shinning with the excitement of such a challenge, "It would be hard, of course, but not impossible. The key is research. I need to know all the protections around the bank, how they detect intruders, and how they deal with them. It will require some spying."

"Actually, I think there might be a simpler way."

Tom glanced at Harry appreciatively. Sometimes genius was no match for sheer dumb luck, a creative imagination, and some serious experience. Harry was the master of the last three.

"When Sirius was on the run from Azkaban, he wanted to buy me a Firebolt for Christmas, so he sent in an order by owl."

"Seriously?" Tom was torn between feeling extremely depressed by the idiocy of the wizarding world and being happy that it worked in his advantage. "Do you know exactly how it works? I mean, does Bellatrix need to write a letter like that or can we forge one?"

Harry shrugged.

"Well, ask your godfather the first chance you get. Meanwhile, I'll retrieve the ring and locket, the other Horcruxes. What?" he added at the look of mirth on Harry's face.

"Oh, nothing." said Harry, "Nice Horcruxes. I didn't know you had an obsession with Jewelry."

"For your information, they are priceless historical artifacts. Anyways, who are you to talk? The physical object you're most closely attached to is a broomstick."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Sherlock. "If I didn't find the thought of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort fighting like an old married couple so funny, I'd be really annoyed by your childish bickering. In any case, lay off each other for a moment, I'd planned on doing something fun today once we'd finished with the serious planning. Auror Scrimgeour contacted me today."

Tom felt a grin spread across his face that was reflected on the faces of his friends. Considering Sherlock's fascination with crime, and the fact that a smart wizard could use magic to cover up almost all evidence and clues making for extremely challenging cases, it was only a matter of time until Sherlock found a way to involve himself with the crime-solving aspect of the magical society.

It was still a mystery to Tom how Sherlock had managed to recognize Scrimgeour as an important Auror all those months ago, when he accompanied Harry to the Ministry, but the fact remained that a couple weeks ago, Sherlock strode into Tom's home looking extremely proud with himself and said that he had just gotten a reply from Scrimgeour.

Apparently, he had sent an owl to the Auror around a week before, with a list of deductions he had made about him based on a few quick glimpses in the courtroom where Harry was being judged, and an offer to volunteer his impressive deduction skills in order to help the Department of Magical Law Enforcement solve whichever cases baffled them.

According to the reply, Scrimgeour was impressed enough that he agreed to give Sherlock a chance by letting him work on some cold cases. Sherlock was pleased, because he got to solve difficult crimes and show off simultaneously and Tom was pleased because this solved the mystery of where his owl had disappeared to.

The last cold case they had solved (well, Sherlock had solved and they kept him company), had involved breaking into the victim's brother's house, infiltrating an underground elf-fighting ring, and temporarily transfiguring the murderer into a towel. Tom had been looking forward to the next case.

"Where to?" he asked, waving his wand and catching his cloak as it flew towards him through the air.

"First the building in which the murder occurred," replied Sherlock, "I have the address, it's in Bristol. After that, to the Ministry, where they have pictures of the crime scene. I can only hope the Aurors had enough sense to photograph the scene and body properly." He frowned.

Apparently, the art of investigating a crime scene was more developed in the muggle world, and the Ministry Aurors hadn't been living up to Sherlock's standards, much to his consternation.

"Don't worry," Tom said, trying to sound comforting and feeling painfully aware, as he awkwardly patted Sherlock's arm, that this was Harry's forte and not his, " you only need to prove yourself to Scrimgeour on two more cold cases, and then he'll start calling you to the real ones. Two more cases, and we can come and investigate the scene ourselves before anyone has a chance to bullocks it up for you."

"I know that!" snapped Sherlock rather nastily. Fortunately he did seem slightly mollified as he handed Tom a scrap of parchment with the address scribbled on it. He then took Tom's arm and allowed him to apparate the three of them away. Tom concluded that his awkward pep-talk was successful. Harry's smile and wink at him when Sherlock turned away confirmed that theory.

He was getting better at having friends, he concluded, smiling a tad sadistically at the sight of Harry and Sherlock both lying on the ground coughing and heaving, still not quite used to apparation. Yes, he was definitely improving.

* * *

Umbridge's painted pink lips were curled into a smile as she greeted the class with a sugary voice, and Harry settled down at the back of the classroom, resigning himself to another awful lesson.

"Please turn to page 264 and read chapters 14 and 15."

He stifled a yawn as he flipped through the despicable book by Wilbert Slinkhard, emitting a small chuckle upon noticing the alteration Ron had made to his book upon borrowing it the night before. The 'slink' had been crossed out, and the author's name now read 'Wilbert Blowhard'.

Apparently, Umbridge had heard his stifled snigger, because she glanced up at him with the horrible parody of a smile on her face, "Question, dear?"

Ever since the trick Harry, Tom and Sherlock had played on her, Umbridge had developed the habit of looking unbearably smug and gleeful every time she glanced in Harry's direction. Harry had reached the conclusion that the thought of all the pain and torture Voldemort had in store for him caused Umbridge so much joy that it counteracted even the terror and unpleasantness of the whole ordeal they had put her through.

Oh well, at least he didn't get detentions with her anymore. Just to make sure she wasn't getting off the hook too easy, Harry had taken to summoning all the dead rats in the immediate vicinity whenever he was near the forbidden forest. At first he had hidden the rats in her bedroom, but ever since the protective charms on her door had become too complicated for him, he had started using the rats to bribe whatever snakes he could find on the grounds to follow her around.

Harry concentrated on the happy memory in order to prevent himself from cursing the ugly smile off her mouth, and shook his head politely as he turned to the required chapter.

It was titled 'Steps to assessing whether an act of self-protection is indeed required'. Harry yawned.

 _A witch or wizard is required to confirm that they are indeed being attacked with malicious intent before they use any jinxes that are capable of causing harm_. This is so stupid ... _in order to be legally permitted to cast a spell in self-defense, one's opponent's spell must either be cast verbally, or hit it's target in order to confirm that the spell is indeed a malicious one. A full list of spells deemed harmful enough by the Ministry to warrant an act of self defense can be found_  Don't yawn now, Umbridge is watching  _…section 34 paragraph G. In the event of a confirmed harmful spell being directed at him or her, the witch or wizard must first shoot sparks out of their wand in warning. If, at this point, the attacker persists, the disarming spell may be used against the aggressor._  This is the most useless thing I've ever read … _One must be careful, while casting the spell…_

Harry stifled another yawn, and looked down at his wristwatch. Only eighty three more min-

A sudden all-consuming pain hit Harry like a wave of bricks. His scar was on fire, as emotions that didn't belong to him invaded his mind. Fear, so much fear, and red hot anger.

Harry fell to the floor, clutching his scar and screaming.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I usually don't write notes here, but I just wanted to warn you that this chapter contains semi-explicit content. A censored version can be found on fanfiction under the same username, and if you'd rather read that you won't miss anything.
> 
> Enjoy!

_A sudden all-consuming pain hit Harry like a wave of bricks. His scar was on fire, as emotions that didn't belong to him invaded his mind. Fear, so much fear, and red hot anger._ _  
  
Harry fell to the floor, clutching his scar and screaming.  
_  
 **About an hour earlier…**  
  
Tom watched the blood drip from his arm, shaking feverishly. He felt strangely lightheaded, watching the red liquid slowly become absorbed in the wet and dank stone of the cave.  
  
One of his Horcruxes was gone. His ring. Someone had removed it from the Gaunt hovel despite all the protections and enchantments. Logically, he knew it shouldn't matter to him as he was planning to reabsorb the Horcrux anyways, but the thought that someone had destroyed his Horcrux without his knowledge made him feel extremely vulnerable. And vulnerability made him feel nauseous and shaky.  
  
He noticed absently that he was shivering, though he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the shock.  
  
Tom was aware of the fact he wasn't thinking very clearly, and the world around him seemed disconcertingly hazy, but he didn't have time to think of that now. He needed to get to the locket, to ensure that the rest of his Horcruxes were safe.  
  
The last of the blood on the stone wall of the cave vanished into the stone, and the stone disappeared, leaving a yawning archway behind it that Tom hurried through. Standing at the edge of the green lake, Tom stared down at the pale bodies that floated underneath the surface.  
  
A faraway splash indicated that the boat had left the island in which it was docked and was speeding towards Tom. There was no need for Tom to pull the boat towards him. The heavily-enchanted cave was reacting to his blood in a way it would never react to another's.  
  
The boat landed in front of Tom with a soft thump, but Tom did not get on it. He continued to silently stare at the decaying bodies floating in the cold water. His memories of creating this place were very dim, as all his memories of the times in which his sanity slipped were. He hadn't recalled creating Inferi to guard the lake, but now that he saw them the memories of creating them began to return. He had needed many, many bodies to protect the island that housed his Horcrux, and as he recalled how he had accumulated the bodies, Tom fell to his knees, emptying his stomach into the dark lake.  
  
Shivering as he slowly got to his feet and climbed into the boat, Tom tried to forcibly think of a different subject, but the images of the horror wouldn't leave his head.  
  
It wasn't him. Voldemort wasn't him. He tried repeating it over and over in his head, in hopes that he'd begin to believe it. It was harder, though, than it usually was to ignore the guilt and memories that hounded him. Probably because he knew that very soon he would be forced to acknowledge what he had done. If he wanted to cure himself, and prevent the type of things he was seeing from ever occurring again, he would need to look the ugly truth straight in the face and experience the full brunt of his guilt.  
  
Tom pushed the thought away as the boat bumped softly against land, and he climbed out onto the little island in the center of the lake. Tom grimaced when he had neared the stone basin enough to see the glowing green potion in it, and sighed in relief when it receded. Reaching his hand out, he grabbed the Horcrux and quickly retreated.  
  
Something felt strange, wrong, about the size of the locket in his hand, and Tom wondered if the potion he had used was actually strong enough to affect something as indestructible as a Horcrux. Grimacing as he caught a glimpse of a rotting face under the water, he decided to investigate once he was no longer in the horrible cave. Quickly climbing into the boat, Tom clutched the Horcrux, trying to ignore the feeling of wrong and concentrate on getting home as quickly as he could.  
  
With a pop, Tom reappeared in his study, locket clutched tightly in his hand. He called for Nagini, and felt some of his tension leave him as she came slithering over towards him. She, at least, was safe. Even if someone (Dumbledore, probably) had discovered his secret, at least he had Nagini. He was still safe, protected, immortal.  
  
And, of course, the locket. He also had the locket Horcrux, though the unease in his mind was growing. It was distinctly smaller than he remembered it being.  
  
Tom opened his hand and looked at the locket properly for the first time since laying eyes on it. Then he flipped it over. And flipped it over again. And again and again and again. But no matter how hard he looked, there was no ornate S carved into the gold.  
  
"Open!" he hissed. Nothing happened.  
  
"Open!" he repeated, "Open! Open! Open! Please open, Merlin damn you!"  
  
He threw the locket to the floor in frustration, and suddenly, it was open. The impact had done what the parseltongue password could not. There was a note inside.  
  
It was hard to read the handwriting, and it took Tom a minute to notice that it was because his hands were shaking.  
  
 _To the Dark Lord,  
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.  
R.A.B._  
  
Tom let the note fall from his fingers. R.A.B. Who was this mysterious stranger, and how had he discovered his secret? Was this the same person who had stolen the ring from the Gaunt hovel?  
  
To the Dark Lord...  the Dark Lord… A Death Eater? It must be, only his servants called him by that name. Which of his Death Eaters had names beginning with and R? The first that came to mind were Rodolphus and Rabastan, but the mere thought was ridiculous. Even if it weren't for the fact that their last name didn't fit the initials, they were both ridiculously loyal to him. No, it was someone else.  
  
Who could have known about his Horcruxes? Then it hit him. Regulus! It was so obvious in retrospect, that Tom was astonished he hadn't figured it out immediately. His only excuse for not jumping to the correct conclusion right away was that it had been years and years since he had seen or thought of Regulus.  
  
Of course it was him. Tom had used his house-elf to test his defenses. And if anyone would have access to information about magic as dark as Horcruxes, it would surely be a member of the Black family.  
  
Tom wondered what had happened to it. Had Regulus managed to destroy it? He probably had. Regulus had always been able to master incredibly complicated spells with the blink of an eye. He must have been able to control Fiendfyre.  
  
He could feel his vision blur again, as the feeling of vulnerability returned, shaking him to his core. Two Horcruxes gone without his knowledge. Two pieces of him destroyed, killed! No, three! Harry had destroyed his diary as well. Had killed him!  
  
And he had probably been the one to destroy the ring, too, it couldn't have been Regulus. Regulus didn't know of the ring. He only knew of the locket because his house-elf had been used to test the defenses. Potter also knew of the ring! Tom himself had told him! Why had he told him again? He frowned, trying to remember. The memory was a bit hazy.  
  
What reason would he, Lord Voldemort, have to tell his prophesized vanquisher of his Horcruxes? There must be some explanation, if only he could recall it.  
  
It was obviously some kind of plan, he finally decided, he was just blanking out on the details. Harry Potter was close to Dumbledore, he would spy on Dumbledore for the Dark Lord. Potter had already helped him by telling his Death Eaters something, though Lord Voldemort couldn't remember exactly what it was. He'd probably decided that that was proof enough that Potter had changed sides that it was safe to tell him about the Horcruxes. And the brat had betrayed him! Destroyed his precious Horcruxes!  
  
Lord Voldemort could feel the rage building up inside him. He wanted to find Potter and Crucio him, make him scream. He wanted to watch the life leave Potter's beautiful green eyes. He'd pay for destroying his Horcrux!  
  
Oh Merlin. Potter had destroyed his Horcrux. And Lord Voldemort had foolishly told him about the rest of the Horcruxes as well! He needed to stop Potter! He needed to stop him right now before he destroyed any more of his Horcruxes, made him mortal! He needed to bring Potter to him now and kill him!  
  
How did Potter usually come to him? Lord Voldemort frowned again, trying to remember through the fog that seemed to surround his memories sometimes.  
  
A secret passageway from Hogwarts! Lord Voldemort himself had been there when the passageway was first tested, hadn't he? Now, how to get Potter to use it?  
  
Concentrating, the Dark Lord remembered. Potter always came at a set time. But that was no good, Potter could destroy all his precious Horcruxes by that time, he needed Potter to be here now.  
  
"Elf!" Lord Voldemort bellowed.  
  
"How can Yorry be serving master?" the voice came from below his knees, and the Dark Lord sneered at the source of it. It was such a weak and pathetic little creature. He could kill it with a flick of his wand, and there was nothing the elf could do to stop him. He sent a stinging hex at it, and emitted a hissy laugh at the creature's squeak.  
  
"Go and get Potter now. Tell him it's an emergency, but say nothing else. If he refuses to come, take him by force. Hurry!"  
  
He sent another hex at the elf to urge it to hurry, but the spell hit the floor as the elf popped away just in time.  
  
He growled in frustration at the escape of his victim, and began pacing the room, waiting impatiently for the elf to return with Harry Potter.  


* * *

  
Harry rubbed his scar and sighed. The anger had mellowed slightly, only to be replaced by- impatience? He quickened his pace, eager to reach Tom and find out what the matter was.  
  
It was incredibly frustrating, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what it was. Harry wished he could have seen what had happened through Tom's eyes.  
  
This was the first time he had sensed Tom's emotions when his scar hurt rather than seeing through his eyes. Know what Tom was feeling was far less useful than the visions, as far as Harry was concerned. Then again, he had only ever had visions while he slept, so there was an advantage to getting advanced warning of trouble whether or not he was asleep.  
  
Maybe the emotions weren't as definite as actual visions, but they did give Harry some clues to work on: Tom had first felt anger and fear, then a moment of glee, and now impatience. What could have caused it?  
  
The glee had made him uneasy. There was something, the thought was ridiculous, but there was something about it that reminded him of Umbridge's wide and sadistic grin when he came back to consciousness a couple seconds after he had collapsed, breathing heavily and lying in a puddle of his own vomit.  
  
She had been leaning over him where he lay, and her ugly, grinning, face was the first thing he saw when he had opened his eyes. A second later the delighted expression had vanished, replaced by fake, sugary concern, but even as she spoke softly and tenderly, telling him to go to the hospital wing immediately, she couldn't help emitting a little girlish giggle of delight at the end of the sentence.  
  
The thought of the glee Harry had felt from Tom brought to mind that sadistic little giggle of delight. The thought was ridiculous, though. Umbridge was a despicable and horrible woman, and Tom was amazing. And he had been so angry on Harry's behalf when he found out what Umbridge had done to him. The mere memory caused Harry to smile happily for a second, reflecting. No, his massive headache was just causing him delusions. There was no reason to associate Tom's happiness with Umbridge's delighted little smile. Just the headache, ignore it, he repeated to himself.  
  
His time would be better spent trying to deal with concrete things, like what to tell Ron and Hermione. Harry was sure they recognized the symptoms of a Voldemort-Vision, and so would expect him to go to the Headmaster. After all, that was what he had done the last time, when he had collapsed in Divination.  
  
Only this time, he had absolutely no intention of doing so. This time he was walking urgently to the seventh floor, where he'd enter the Room of Requirement and rush to Tom's house as quickly as he could. Even if Tom wasn't there, he could always ask Yorry to take him to Tom.  
  
What would he tell his friends, though? Last year, when he had collapsed in Divination due to a vision from Voldemort, he had rushed straight to Dumbledore's office to tell him. Ron and Hermione would expect him to do the same now.  
  
Would they believe him if he told them that Dumbledore hadn't been in his office? It was a possibility, but then they'd expect him to try again on a later date. And then how would he explain to Dumbledore why he hadn't come to him sooner? If Dumbledore was in his office at the moment, Harry would be caught in his lie.  
  
Perhaps he could tell them that since Dumbledore hadn't been present he had opted to send him a letter. The second he found out what was wrong and dealt with it, Harry could return to Hogwarts and send the letter, thus eliminating any holes in his story.  
  
Pleased that he had decided on a course of action, Harry walked resolutely towards the place where he knew the hidden door to the Room of Requirement was. He could already see the tapestry on the wall opposite it, and caught a glimpse of a pink tutu, when a pop startled him.  
  
"Yorry!" he breathed with relief upon laying eyes on her, "I don't think I've ever been this happy to see you!"  
  
"Harry Potter Sir must come at once!" Yorry squeaked, and Harry was startled to see that there were tears in her eyes "Master says it is great emergency!"  
  
"Emergency? Do you know what happened?"  
  
Yorry just shook her head and repeated, "Harry Potter Sir must come at once! Great emergency!"  
  
"Alright." said Harry. Feeling slightly bemused, he took the elf's hand that she had held out for him. For a second, Harry's eyes met Yorry's round wet ones, and Yorry opened her mouth, looking like she was going to say something. Harry recognized the look of indecision on her face. It was the same that used to appear on Dobby's face whenever he was teetering on the edge of saying something he was forbidden to say.  
  
He wanted to reassure her, and tell her that she didn't need to say anything, and he'd just ask Tom when he saw him, but he didn't get a chance as Yorry yanked her hand out of his and boxed her own ears.  
  
"Bad Yorry!" she muttered, "Bad Yorry must obey Master's orders!"  
  
"It's fine, Yorry." said Harry gently, "Don't hurt yourself anymore, just take me to see him, don't worry about it, if it's important, Tom can tell me himself."  
  
"Oh, Harry Potter Sir!" she wailed, bursting into tears, but she took Harry's hand and the world dissolved around him with a pop.  
  
A second later, everything became solid once again, and Harry's eyes took in the familiar sight of Tom's study. What was unfamiliar was the hateful sneer on Tom's face as Harry laid eyes on him.  
  
"Incarcerous!" he incanted, and before Harry could wrap his mind around what was happening he was already sitting on one of the comfy brown chairs he had sat on so many times before. For the first time, though, his feet were tightly bound to the chair's legs, and his arms were tied behind his back.  
  
Tom walked up to Harry, approaching until he loomed over Harry threateningly. "Harry Potter." he breathed softly.  
  
An answer was making its way into Harry's befuddled mind, and the familiarity of the scene was what finally caused the knut to drop. The situation closely resembled the situation in the graveyard, months ago: Harry tied up and helpless, Voldemort looming over him, calling him "Harry Potter" since the time had not yet come in which he had become simply "Harry" to Tom.  
  
This was the same Voldemort he had faced at the graveyard back in June. This was the Voldemort he had confronted in the secret room where the Philosopher's stone was hidden back in his first year. This was the Voldemort who had killed his parents and tried to kill him. This was Tom, rendered insane and cruel by the destruction of his soul.  
  
He had obviously forgotten that he was under an enchantment that altered his appearance, since the face that was glaring at Harry was the familiar and human face Harry had come to know and love, rather than the pale monstrous features of Lord Voldemort. It was quite disconcerting to Harry, who had spent an inordinate amount of effort on trying to separate Tom and Voldemort in his mind.  
  
This would no longer be possible, as it was Tom's handsome features that were twisted with hate as he pointed his wand at Harry and snarled "Crucio!".  
  
Harry gasped, feeling like a knife had been pushed into his stomach and twisted. It was incredibly painful, and it was all Harry could do to keep from screaming. It was not, however, anything like what he recalled Cruciatus Curse feeling like. Though he was panting with pain, and could hardly concentrate through desperate wish that it would just stop, it was bearable. Hardly so, but still- bearable.  
  
A second later, the pain abated, and Harry looked up at Tom, who was glancing between Harry and his wand, looking quite disconcerted. A second later, though, he seemed to shake it off, as the relatively human expression vanished from his face and was replaced with a hateful glare.  
  
"I should probably save the torture for your interrogation, shouldn't I, Potter? Don't worry, you won't have to wait long."  
  
Harry felt hope and fear war in his chest. The fact that Voldemort hadn't been able to conjure up enough hate to Crucio Harry properly gave him hope that there was still a bit of Tom in him, that maybe he could somehow help him return to his proper mind. On the other hand, if he made an attempt to remind Tom of their relationship and failed, he would probably only anger Voldemort more.  
  
Deciding to take the risk and hope that his words could help Tom remember who he was, Harry opened his mouth, intending to remind Tom of their shared history and friendship. Then he caught sight of Yorry, frantically shaking her head at him, and shut his mouth again.  
  
"Now, Potter," Voldemort began speaking, pacing up and down in front of Harry, "My first question: What did you do with the Horcrux? –ah ah ah," he said, upon seeing Harry open his mouth to answer "I should probably warn you first that lying will only worsen your situation. Every lie you tell will equal a Crucio Curse, and I will know when you're lying. Lord Voldemort always knows. Now, the Horcrux: what did you do with it?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." said Harry, quite sincerely, praying that Tom's legilimancy skills were as good as he claimed, and that he would be able to tell that Harry really didn't know.  
  
Thankfully, it appeared that they were, as Tom didn't curse Harry. He merely stood in front of him, staring at him thoughtfully.  
  
"You are telling the truth." he said finally.  
  
Harry released a sigh of relief.  
  
"But then, who else could have known of my Horcrux?"  
  
Finally feeling like he was beginning to grasp what was happening Harry opened his mouth without thinking, "One of your Horcruxes is missing?"  
  
Surprisingly, Voldemort did not curse Harry for him impudence, but merely continued to scrutinize him thoughtfully. "There was another one, wasn't there?" he finally asked "There was another present in the room when I told you of my Horcruxes."  
  
Oh Merlin, Sherlock! Sherlock had probably deduced where one of Tom's Horcruxes was, and had run off and taken it to examine, feeling very proud of himself, and never thought that the repercussions of his actions could include Tom reverting to his monstrous alter-ego. And now Voldemort was going to erroneously piece out that Sherlock stole it, and he was going to kill him!  
  
Relying on the fact that Voldemort's memory of his time as Tom seemed to be spotty, Harry took a risk. "There wasn't anyone else there, it was just me and you."  
  
Voldemort's eyes flashed. "Wrong move, Potter. Even if I couldn't perform Legilimancy, I can clearly remember two people in the room as I discussed my Horcruxes. You and another… A muggle?"  
  
Harry's chocking breath was enough to prove him right. "I would never have spoken to a filthy muggle out of free will. You must have cursed me, Potter, some form of the Confundus, probably. Who is that muggle, and why did you want him to know my secrets?"  
  
"There's no point in asking!" shouted Harry, recognizing that lying to Voldemort was of no use, and desperate to protect Sherlock, "I'll never tell you! You can torture me for information, you can even kill me, but you won't get a word out of me. EVER!"  
  
"Then I have no more use for you." said Voldemort coldly, "Goodbye, Harry Potter."  
  
In a split second, Harry realized what Voldemort was going to do, and squeezed his eyes shut so that he wouldn't have to witness one of his best friends, a person who he had never realized just how much he loved until this very moment, kill him.  
  
He heard the hissy whisper of Voldemort's voice. "Avada Kedav-"  
  
Then there was a bang.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry held his breath and waited, but all he could hear was silence. Then, the sound of a high pitched wail.  
  
Harry opened his eyes.  
  
Tom was lying on the floor, out cold. Yorry was standing in between Harry and where Tom was lying, arms outstretched towards Tom, frozen in the position she had assumed while stunning Tom.  
  
Then, she took off at a sprint, and slammed herself head first into the wall. "Bad Yorry!" she shouted, "Oh, bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad Yorry, what has you done?" she was pulling her ears, tears streaming down her face. "You has harmed Master, you has gone against Master, you bad bad elf!"  
  
"Yorry!" Harry shouted, desperately struggling against his bindings trying to get to her, "Stop punishing yourself!"  
  
Yorry looked at him with tears in her big brown eyes, "Yorry has harmed poor Master. Poor kind Master. Yorry has attacked him, to save Harry Potter Sir. Yorry should be executed. Yorry will be, once she revives Master, Yorry will be executed and deserve it, yes she will!" She began banging her head against the floor.  
  
"Yorry, stop it!" he shouted, terrified for her, "You did good! Your really really did! Tom will be very happy with what you did once he's restored to his right mind!"  
  
The elf paused for a second, slowing down the banging. Seeing he had her attention, Harry quickly continued, "Tom didn't really know what he was doing just now, if he did he would have wanted you to stop him! He'll be glad you saved my life!"  
  
The elf had completely stopped banging her head against the floor to look at him, "Yorry does not understand what Harry Potter Sir is saying. Yorry is very confused. Yorry has been very confused this whole time, not just by Harry Potter Sir, but by Master too. It seemed to Yorry that something is being very not good."  
  
"You're right, Yorry!" said Harry quickly, "Something was very bad, but you fixed it by stunning Tom, you did a great job, trust me!"  
  
Yorry shook her head, but her sobbing calmed, and she didn't resume her self-inflicted punishment, "The great Harry Potter Sir is much wiser than Yorry could ever hope to be. Yorry does not understand what Harry Potter Sir means, but Master trusts Harry Potter so Yorry trusts Harry Potter too. Yorry will obey Harry Potter Sir until things is being making sense to Yorry again."  
  
"Thank Merlin!" breathed Harry quietly. Then, louder, he said to Yorry, "Okay Yorry, I need you to untie me now, and then go and get Sherlock. Can you do that?"  
  
Yorry nodded enthusiastically. "Yorry is being doing that right away, Sir!"  
  
"Great!" said Harry, smiling, "you should know that Tom's going to be really pleased with you once we fix him. Okay? So try not to stress about what just happened."  
  
Yorry nodded, snapped her fingers, and disappeared with a pop.  
  
Testing his bonds, Harry discovered that with the snap of her fingers, Yorry had severed the rope that had tied him up. Standing up, he cursed, and quickly sat back down again, massaging his legs.  
  
A few seconds later, Yorry appeared with Sherlock in tow.  
  
"Harry?" asked Sherlock glancing at Tom's unconscious body and at the severed ropes lying around the chair Harry was sitting on, "Are you alright?"  
  
"It's not me you need to worry about," said Harry wearily, "it's Tom. The second Yorry apparated me here he tied me to the chair and tried to Crucio me. I think-"  
  
"That you've just witnessed Tom while he's been taken over by insanity once again? Obviously. I assume Yorry is the one who knocked him unconscious?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"Good elf." said Sherlock to Yorry. Harry wanted to reprimand him and tell him she wasn't a dog, but Yorry beamed at the compliment, so Harry kept his mouth shut.  
  
"What have we here?" Sherlock asked, striding up to Tom's desk and picking up something shiny. Harry stood up and joined Sherlock where he stood, peering at the locket. "One of Tom's Horcruxes is a locket, isn't it?" he questioned Sherlock, who nodded.  
  
"I guess that this is it." said Harry, staring at the locket. It was hanging open, and there was no picture inside.  
  
"Don't be an idiot!" snapped Sherlock "Look at this." He was holding out a lined piece of parchment that looked like it had been folded many times over. Just enough times, in fact, to fit inside a locket about the size of the one Sherlock was holding.  
  
"To the Dark Lord," Sherlock read out loud, excitedly, "I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B."  
  
"Oh." said Harry quietly. "Do you think that's what's caused…"  
  
Sherlock nodded. "Well," he amended, "I'm not quite sure. Tom and I have never discussed what triggered his periods of insanity. It makes sense, though. The fact that one of his Horcruxes was destroyed probably caused him a lot of distress and made him feel vulnerable, this violent version of him could be some kind of strange defense mechanism."  
  
"So…" said Harry, "What do we do to get him back?"  
  
Sherlock turned to look at Tom's prone body, and Harry joined him. "I'm not quite sure." Sherlock finally admitted, "I don't know if there's much we can do, but try to revive him and see if his 'defense mechanism' is still activated."  
  
"What if it is, and he tries to kill us both?" asked Harry.  
  
"Well, obviously we tie him up before waking him, so if he does feel any homicidal urges he won't be able to act upon them."  
  
"I don't know how waking up bound makes you feel, but if there's anything that would make him feel vulnerable and feel the need to defend himself, wouldn't that be it?" asked Harry.  
  
"Well, I don't see any better ideas coming from you." snapped Sherlock, "We just have to do it and hope for the best." He knelt down beside Tom, and Harry joined him. "You better tie him up."  
  
Unable to find his wand, Harry picked up Tom's which was lying right next to his prone body, and incarcerated him. He concentrated on binding Tom's wrists only, feeling that the less restricted Tom was when he woke up, the less likely he was to panic or lash out. Ropes snaked out of Tom's wand, and secured his hands behind his back.  
  
Sherlock frowned, and Harry could identify. It was definitely unpleasant, seeing Tom lying on his back, vulnerable and damaged.  
  
"You better go check his head." said Sherlock, in a much softer voice than he normally used, "See if it sustained damage when he fell."  
  
Harry gently picked up Tom's head and felt it for a bump. He found one, though there was no blood, which Harry took as a good sign. Reluctant to lay Tom's head back on the hard cold floor, Harry sat on the floor next to him, and placed Tom's head in his lap, cushioning it.  
  
"Yorry, revive him please." said Sherlock quietly.  
  
The elf snapped her fingers, and Tom's eyelids fluttered.  
  
"Tom?" said Sherlock quietly, and leaned over him until they were face to face, nose to nose, "Tom, can you hear me?"  
  
"Sherlock?" Tom's voice was hoarse, and still sounded slightly hissy, but there was no mistaking the warm familiarity in it.  
  
"It's me." replied Sherlock, "Do you remember what happened?"  
  
Tom frowned for a few seconds, then gasped. "Oh Merlin! Oh fuck! Harry! Where is he? What did I do to him?"  
  
"I'm right here, Tom." Harry replied. Tom tilted his head up so that he could see the origin of the sound. He looked quite surprised to find his head in Harry's lap.  
  
Harry smiled. "Yorry stunned you before you could do anything."  
  
"Merlin, Harry. I'm sorry! I'm so, so, sorry!"  
  
"It's fine." said Harry quietly.  
  
"I Crucio'd you!" shouted Tom, "And then I tried to kill you! I can think of a lot of things to call it, but fine isn't one of them!"  
  
"I forgive you." said Harry simply.  
  
"You?... Oh, Harry!" it shocked Harry to realize that Tom had tears in his eyes.  
  
"It's really really fine!" he said, unsure how to deal with the unexpected display of emotion and panicking, "It all turned out fine."  
  
Tom sighed, and laid his head back on Harry's lap for a second. His breath shook suspiciously for a moment, but a few seconds later he regained his composure and made a move to get up.  
  
"What-? Am I tied up?"  
  
"We weren't sure if you'd still want to kill us once we woke you up." explained Sherlock, who was still looming over Tom, his face almost touching Tom's.  
  
"Oh. Well, you know it's fine now, so you can untie me."  
  
"Not quite yet." replied Sherlock, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against Tom's.  
  
Tom's mouth opened underneath him with a moan, and before he could register what was happening, Harry's two best friends were kissing each other fervently. Tom's head having been on Harry's lap when the kiss occurred, led them to a position in which they were making out practically on top of Harry, and he could feel his body reacting.  
  
"Alright, alright!" gasped Tom when they finally pulled apart for air, "You can untie me now." Sherlock only smirked.  
  
"Untie me now, damn you!" Tom growled at the playful and unyielding look on Sherlock's face.  
  
Harry spotted Yorry out of the corner of his eye. She snapped her fingers and then left the room quietly. Hands finally free, Tom threw his arms around Sherlock, kissing him passionately once more.  
  
Just as Harry began to wonder if he should leave, Tom spun around to face him.  
  
"And you!" he growled. And before Harry knew it he was being tackled to the ground, and Tom was lying on top of him and kissing him with just as much passion as he had kissed Sherlock. Harry surrendered to the kiss as he felt Tom's tongue in his mouth, and his erection grinding against Harry's.  
  
"Really?" asked Harry stupidly, once they had both pulled apart panting.  
  
"Of course!" laughed Tom, understanding exactly what Harry had meant to ask, "And Sherlock does too! Don't you, Sherlock?"  
  
"Of course." echoed Sherlock, grinning at Harry excitedly from behind Tom's shoulder, "Both of you. Always."  
  
And Harry grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down beside them, so they were all lying in a heap on the floor. They all lay there, heaving heavily for a second, and suddenly it was like a frenzy overtook them. Harry was desperately trying to unbutton Sherlock's shirt while his other hand was shoved down Tom's pants, as Tom sucked on his neck.

 

Sherlock brushed Harry's hand away long enough to pull his own shirt over his head, and then bent down to kiss him. Harry was quickly losing any semblance of control he had over his body. His hips bucked up automatically, as he felt Sherlock's long leg brush up against his cock.  


Half on his other side, half underneath him, Tom was thrusting into Harry's hand, panting. Sherlock released Harry's mouth, grunting, as Tom leaned over Harry and bit Sherlock's collarbone.

 

Tom's thrusts were becoming more and more frantic, and Harry tried to concentrate on continuing to stroke him amid the frenzy of Sherlock's increasingly dirty sounds as he writhed against Harry, and Harry's own fevered approach towards an orgasm.

 

With a strangled moan, Harry came, riding out the most incredible orgasm he had ever experienced. A moment later, Sherlock followed him. Tom was able to last a few seconds longer, and then he too was lying against the floor, boneless. The hard cold floor was extremely uncomfortable, and it was all over way too quickly, but it was also the most incredible experience of Harry's life.

  
There were no words that could describe the mind-blowing pleasure of his first sexual experience, or the elation of connecting so intimately to his two best friends, the two people he loved with an intensity he had never experienced before.  
  
As they all lay on the floor, panting and sticky, Tom rolled over and groaned about the pain in his back, and Harry laughed with ecstasy. Tom swatted him on the arm for that, and then immediately kissed him, completely negating the pretence of annoyance he had assumed.  
  
After a quick (individual) shower, they all crawled into Tom's luxuriously huge bed, and fell asleep. Tom's arm thrown on Sherlock's chest, and Sherlock's hand intertwined with Harry's.  
  
Yorry snapped her fingers one last time, straightening the covers around them, and then, literally patting herself on the back, she strode softly out of the room, taking care not to wake them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope this lived up to all of your expectations, drop me a line and let me know please!


	16. Chapter 15

"You're being an idiot." said Sherlock harshly.

They were sitting around the kitchen table. Tom had declined Yorry's offer of tea, but Harry was sipping his own cup with the long-suffering expression he always got on his face when Tom and Sherlock bickered. No, they were not bickering, Sherlock reminded himself, Tom was being stupid, and Sherlock was knocking some sense into his head.

"I'm not being an idiot!" protested Tom, scowling, "It's perfectly normal to feel this way!"

"Perhaps," replied Sherlock, "but it's depressing me and becoming annoying. Stop it!"

"Well, let's kill two pieces of your soul and then see if you don't get upset!" replied Tom heatedly.

"Shut up!" groaned Harry, "Both of you! I just had the best night of my life, and you're ruining my good mood with  _your_  angst" he looked at Tom pointedly, "and  _your_  quarreling." he turned his gaze to Sherlock.

"I just don't understand why it matters!" protested Sherlock, "So what if his Horcruxes were destroyed? He's planning on reabsorbing them anyways!"

"We aren't exactly sure what happens when a Horcrux is destroyed!" explained Tom "What if it permanently dies, and I'll never be able to reabsorb it? With two pieces of my soul missing, I'll be in constant danger of becoming insane again. Next time, I might do more lasting damage! I don't know what I'd do if I ended up harming you in a fit of inanity," his voice wobbled a bit, "I don't think I'd ever be able to live with myself."

Harry's eyes softened at Tom's explanation, but Sherlock rolled his.

"The whole concept a Horcrux is based on is the fact that a piece of soul can't die while another part of it still lives. That's why a Horcrux works. So there's no reason you shouldn't be able to regain the pieces of soul in the destroyed Horcruxes just as easily as the rest of them."

Both Harry and Tom sighed with relief at that, but Sherlock wasn't finished.

"Don't pretend to be relieved Tom. I was with you when we investigated the nature of Horcruxes. You knew very well that you had nothing to worry about! You were just playing the sympathy card to get Harry to take your side, weren't you? The only reason you're upset about the destruction of your Horcruxes is because it means that someone outsmarted you."

Harry shot Tom a dirty look and kicked him in the shin. Tom scowled at Sherlock in return and muttered something about it upsetting him enough to lose his mind.

"Well, that turned out pretty well in the end, didn't it?" said Harry brightly.

"Pretty well?" Tom exclaimed, "Harry, I crucioed you!"

"And made a shoddy job of it." Harry replied, much to Sherlock's amusement, "I mean, it hurt, but not nearly as much as last time you cast that spell on me. That Crucio was  _not_  up to par."

Interesting. Tom's feelings for Harry were so profound that they manifested even when Tom had lost all sense of humanity and become Voldemort. Sherlock had known that Tom cared for Harry, of course, but the knowledge that the emotion was so deep was new to him. It was a good thing too, because if Tom had caused Harry any more damage than he did, he probably would have triggered the Unbreakable Vow he had made not to harm Harry.

Did they even remember they had made the Vow? He stared at them. Their bodies were leaning naturally towards each other in conversation, displaying trust and openness. They were long past the need for the safety net of an Unbreakable Vow. Their current trust was based on friendship and affection, with no dependence on any past magical acts.

In the panic and drama of the situation they had been in, they had probably forgotten all about it. Was there any point in reminding them now? Scaring them with the prospects of what could have happened had Tom gone against the Vow and harmed Harry? Sherlock decided to remain silent.

"Anyways," continued Harry obliviously, "Even if your brief stint with insanity  _did_ cause you to Crucio me, I'm glad it happened if it's what finally gave Sherlock the courage to take the risk and kiss you. What happened next completely made it worth it."

"I didn't need any courage to act of my feeling for you," scoffed Sherlock, rolling his eyes ,"I was already aware that the feeling was mutual. Tom's pulse always picks up whenever we touch, and Harry, your pupils always dilate when you see either of us in any state of undress. All Tom needs to do is stretch just a bit, so his shirt hitches up and his stomach shows a bit. It's extremely obvious."

"Then why did you never act on it before?" asked Tom, as Harry blushed.

"You weren't guaranteed to react positively. Harry, you were completely unaware that you had feelings for us. You're utterly honest and wear your heart on your sleeve. If you were aware of how you felt, you would have acted on your feelings immediately. Still, of the two of you, I was least cautious of indicating my affection for you, Harry. Tom- you were the one I was worried about."

"Why me?" questioned Tom gravely. Sherlock wasn't sure, but he thought that Tom looked hurt.

Sherlock knew that despite appearances, Tom was the most vulnerable of the three of them. He had the blood of many people on his hands, Harry's own parents included, and the knowledge and guilt followed him around like a heavy weight on his shoulders. Harry was, of course, the most forgiving and loving person Sherlock had ever met and he truly forgave Tom for his past actions, but if one knew how to look for the signs, one could see that Tom didn't feel entitled to Harry's forgiveness. Tom constantly feared that one day Harry and Sherlock would be faced with the cold, hard truth- that he was a murderer, and decide they no longer wanted his friendship.

So, despite the fact that he loathed any and all things sappy and sentimental, Sherlock tried to be as tactful and gentle as possible when he answered.

"Only a few months ago you had never had a close friend in your life, and your main goal was to cause all those who interacted with you to feel as fearful of you as possible. Letting yourself befriend us was a huge leap of faith for you, and one that shouldn't be underestimated, but there is vulnerability in a romantic relationship that doesn't exist in a friendship. I had reason to believe that allowing us that degree of intimacy in your life would be too much too soon and you wouldn't feel comfortable with it.

"Initiating anything before the time was right could have caused complications, but I felt that last night, after you had experienced for yourself how much better friendship and being loved is than living in loneliness and security, you would be much more open to such advances on my side. And I was right, of course." he finished smugly.

Tom was shaking his head, though. "You were not right. I would have welcomed any advances on either of your parts even before tonight. I'm not an idiot. It's been very clear to me for a very long time that I wasn't happy with the life I was leading."

"I'm not wrong." snapped Sherlock, already making a mental list of all the times Tom's eyebrow twitched or his lip twisted when Sherlock or Harry got too close to him.

He was about to begin listing these incidents, but Harry interrupted before Sherlock could begin.

"BACK TO WHAT I WAS SAYING," he enunciated loudly, giving Sherlock a look that he knew meant that Harry didn't have the patience for this, "everything turned out alright, so Tom can stop being an angsty mood kill and Sherlock can stop being a know it all."

"Fair enough." agreed Tom, "but only if it means Harry can stop referring to Sherlock and Tom in third person, and take off his shirt while he's at it."

Harry's lip twitched as he removed his shirt, and leaned over Tom to kiss him.

* * *

"Good morning, Harry" Hermione greeted him pleasantly as he sat down next to her at breakfast.

Harry's contented yawn drowned out his own greeting, but Hermione seemed to get the gist, since she smiled at him before turning back to her book  _A Study of Runic Fertility Symbols and Their Effect on Middle Eastern Marriage Rituals._

Ron, who Harry woke before leaving the dormitory, arrived soon after looking tired and bleary-eyed. He uttered a grunt that could be interpreted as pleased when he spotted the bacon, and another that could be interpreted as exasperated when he spotted Hermione's book.

Breakfast was interrupted as usual by the flurry of owls entering the Great Hall halfway through the meal, and a tawny brown school-owl landed next to Harry, extending his leg. Harry, recognizing the owl he had sent to Sirius with his inquiry on accessing his Gringotts account while being imprisoned, removed the letter eagerly and opened it.

_Harry,_

_I'll admit that at first I was mystified by your request for information. Now, I think I've realized why you wanted to know how I bought your Firebolt, and await an explanation for this inquiry curious and amused. At first I didn't understand why you would want to know, but then, I realized the potential._

_If the goblins really did agree to serve fugitive Death Eaters as if they were regular clients, the possibilities would be endless! We could write the goblins missives from my cousin Bellatrix promising them a handsome sum of money to deliver coded messages from 'The Dark Lord' to Lucius Malfoy. The thought of him struggling to interpret the message 'The Dark Lord's snake shall enter your hidden drawing room when the moon is at its peak' makes me very happy._

_Is that indeed what you were planning on doing with the information you requested? What did you have in mind? The house I'm staying in is dark, dank and depressing, and hearing about your shenanigans will do me a world of good._

_I'm sorry to tell you though, that as nice as the thought of draining the bank accounts of incarcerated Death Eaters is, it isn't actually plausible. The goblins don't serve fugitives from the law. The only reason I managed to buy you your Firebolt is because I worded the order under your name._

_Since Azkaban is not like normal prisons, and any person incarcerated in there isn't capable of managing their money and affairs like someone in a regular prison might, if a person is ever sentenced to life in Azkaban, their money and possessions all immediately pass on to their next of kin or friends, according to their will._

_Being my godson, you inherited all my money when I was put in Azkaban. When I wrote the order for the Firebolt, it was under your name, though the money was removed from my own vault._

_Unfortunately, this doesn't mean we can forge a letter from Rabastan Lestrange's next of kin ordering Firebolts for all of Gryffindor house. I sent my vault key over with the order as proof of my, or rather your, identity. So unless you have the vault key (or perhaps wand) of the person in question, you won't be able to gain any access to the vault._

_I'm sorry if this rules out whatever it was you were planning (it probably does), but it's still a nice prospect to fantasize about._

_On to a less pleasant subject- I know there has been absolutely no news of Voldemort, but don't let that fool you- DON'T BE COMPLACENT! Dumbledore thinks he's lying low and plotting something big. So please, stay on guard, and report to him immediately the minute something suspicious happens. Knowing you're staying safe helps me do the same._

_With love,_

_Snuffles._

_P.S. burn this letter once you're done reading it._

Harry sighed once he finished reading the letter, and folded it. He would show it to Tom as soon as he got an opportunity to get away. It seemed that they would have to break into Gringotts after all, and though under different circumstances Harry might have regarded it as an adventure, the fact that something as important as Tom's soul was on the line had caused Harry to wish that they could obtain the Horcrux in a much simpler manner.

"Letter from Sirius?" asked Hermione, looking up from her book, "You don't look too happy, what does it say?"

She reached out to take the letter, but Harry stuffed it quickly into his pocket before she could reach it. He wanted to show Tom the letter, and if Hermione and Ron read it they would expect Harry to burn the letter as per the instructions in it.

Both Hermione and Ron stared at him, surprised. Realizing how rare it was for him to keep anything, let alone mail from Sirius, private from his friends, Harry muttered a quick apology.

"…It just had some things that were private, you know?"

Ron still looked suspicious, but thankfully, at that moment, he spotted the pancakes with syrup, and with a shrug at Harry that said 'I still think it's weird but I have more important things to deal with now' he left to the other side of the table where the plate of pancakes was resting.

That left Harry with Hermione, who was, of course, much shrewder than Ron, and had a curiosity streak a mile long. There was a moment of silence. Then: "Really? It had some things that were private?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

Hermione continued pushing, "Look, Harry, it's not that you're not entitled to your privacy, it's completely your right to want to keep your mail to yourself. It's just that you've never had a problem sharing with Ron and me before. The panicked way you reacted when I asked to see your mail was odd. And I probably would have ignored it if it was a one time thing, but you have been behaving rather strange lately in general."

"What else have I been doing that was odd?!" demanded Harry.

"For one thing, you disappeared all of yesterday, only arriving at the Common Room two minutes before curfew. We were really worried for you after you collapsed in Defense, and we couldn't find you anywhere. We even looked for you on the Marauder's Map and didn't find anything. Then you suddenly appeared, and when we asked you where you were, all you had to say for yourself was 'Oh, just around' and that you're too tired to talk and want to go to bed. That's acting odd."

"I er, well, I wasn't really anywhere special, it's not really all that strange I just wanted some time to myself."

Hermione sighed. "You're entitled to your own privacy, Harry, of course you are. Just know that you can tell me anything. I'm your friend, and I'll stand by you no matter what."

With that she turned back to her book, causing Harry to sigh with relief.

"Oh, and one more thing, Harry," she suddenly added, looking up from her book at him, "you might want to button you shirt up properly; I can plainly see the  _bruise_  on your collarbone." She looked pointedly at the rather obvious hickey Harry was sporting, and then calmly returned to her book.

* * *

"Hello, girl." Greeted Tom softly as a familiar snowy white owl flew through the window. She was quite the majestic owl, and very beautiful with her white plumage, which was why Tom remembered her even though he had only seen her once before. Harry hadn't sent him any letters since the very first time he had written to Tom all those months ago. Nowadays, if he wanted to speak to Tom, he either wrote in the enchanted parchment, or simply came over, depending on the hour.

Within the first paragraph, Tom realized what the letter was about.

"Yorry!" he called absently while perusing the letter, "Please find Sherlock and ask him to come over. Tell him it's about the wizard bank." He hoped that by phrasing it as a request and telling Sherlock the reason for wanting his presence, Sherlock would deduce that it was a genuine request by a sane Tom, and nothing to fear.

"Right away, master." replied Yorry. She was still rather wary around Tom, feeling that she had gotten away without the punishment she deserved for having knocked Tom out, despite the fact that he had reassured her that he was happy with her actions that day. It was probably for that reason that she didn't heave a demonstratively loud sigh the way she normally would when Tom ordered her to fetch Sherlock. She still wasn't overly fond of the tactless genius.

"Thank you, Yorry." said Tom warmly. The recent incident left Tom feeling much more affection towards his elf than he ever had before. Yorry had never displayed a hint of possessing a personality or a backbone until recently, and so Tom had only recently become aware of the fact that she was capable of feeling love, thinking for herself, and displaying bravery. The fact that she had displayed all three traits while saving Harry's life despite the knowledge of what it meant for her, only raised his regard for her that much more.

Yorry bowed deeply to Tom, and then vanished with a crack.

By the time Yorry reappeared with Tom, he had finished reading the letter.

"Hello." said Sherlock as he appeared, clutching Yorry's hand, and he left Yorry to bend down and peck Tom on the lips. There was something incredibly pleasant, mused Tom, about being able to display and receive affection with such ease and sincerity. He grinned at Sherlock, and summoned a chair for him with a wave of his wand.

"Harry isn't here." observed Sherlock upon sitting.

"Yes, he sent this letter instead of coming himself." replied Tom.

"Ah, he must have raised suspicions by returning to the common room so late last night and decided it was safer to send a letter so as not to cause increased scrutiny. I'd meant to remind him to return before Hogwarts curfew last night, but then… Well, I didn't want him to."

Tom wholeheartedly understood. They had been rather pleasurably occupied around the time Harry should probably have begun heading back to the castle.

Tom waited patiently for Sherlock to finish reading the letter, gauging his reaction with interest.

"Well," Sherlock concluded, laying down the parchment, "it seems like we will have to break into the bank after all." there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. He was as attracted to the challenge of such a feat as Harry was to the danger.

"Don't get all excited yet." cautioned Tom, "We might not need to after all. If Bellatrix's next of kin orders the goblet to be removed from the bank, the goblins will oblige. And Bellatrix's next of kin is Narcissa Malfoy- her husband is a Death Eater." Thank Merlin for that, mused Tom. Breaking into Gringotts the first time had been enough of a headache to last him a lifetime.

"How convenient." replied Sherlock sourly, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

"Actually, Bellatrix has another sister as well who might be next of kin, and I doubt this one will be as accommodating towards me; she married a muggle-born. So we might still need to break into the bank after all. I wouldn't get my hopes up too high, though. She was disowned by her family which greatly reduces the chance of her getting the inheritance. We'll have to see. I'll go visit Lucius, Narcissa's husband, tomorrow and find out for myself."

* * *

"Alright, everyone!" announced Harry loudly, trying to speak over the cacophony of shouted incantations "That's enough for today! Since we won't be seeing each other again until after Christmas break, I'll give you a little assignment for over the holidays."

Groans were heard all over, and Zacharias Smith muttered in a rather loud whisper that if Harry thought he was going to do homework for some fake class he was as loony as the Daily Prophet said he was.

"Nothing like that." laughed Harry, manfully ignoring Zacharias Smith's snide comment, "You've all been asking to learn Patronuses for a while now. Well, the next lesson after Christmas break you're going to get your wish. Since an important part of a Patronus is having a happy memory to focus on, during the holidays I want you to think hard, and find a very happy memory. Not just a pleasant one, it has to be something that when you remember you can't help but smile."

Focusing on the first night he had spent with Sherlock and Tom, Harry demonstrated: " _Expecto Patronum!"_

There were oohs and ahs from the girls as a stag leapt out of Harry's wand and pranced around the room. The boys too were looking excited at the prospect of being able to duplicate the feat.

"Alright then," instructed Harry, "you know the drill, the goal is to leave in small groups that don't attract attention. Hufflepuffs, you go first this time."

The Ravenclaws were the next to leave, but to Harry's surprise, when Cho's rather quiet friend Marietta got up to leave, Cho motioned her to go on without her. "I think I'll stay here for a while longer." she said.

Marietta looked unsurprised by this, though she obviously wasn't too happy. She bade Cho a surly goodbye, and left without a further glance at anyone else.

Finally, only seven of them remained. Ron and Hermione often stayed with Harry after everyone else left to discuss the lesson and bring up suggestions for future lessons as well. Lately, Ginny, Neville and Luna had taken to joining them. Cho was a new addition to their little group, but everyone greeted her pleasantly enough, and she soon joined the lively conversation.

"The Incarcerous was a good spell to teach, Harry" said Ginny approvingly, "not only is it useful to know, it was also quite fun to watch Zacharias Smith wobble around before falling on his arse."

Harry felt obligated as the unofficial teacher to look disapproving, and did make sure to comment about how the spell should not be used for bullying.

Ron jumped in to defend his sister, but Ginny cut him off. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me Ron. Anyways, that wasn't aimed specifically at me. Harry knows I'm not a bully. The only reason I enjoyed watching the prat suffer is because he's a bully himself."

"I can attest to that." added Luna earnestly, "Even people who aren't normally bullies tend to do things like call me names or laugh at me behind my back," Cho flinched, "and Ginny's never even done that, so she definitely can't be a bully."

There was an awkward silence, which Neville bravely broke by mentioning to Harry how excited he was to start learning how to do the Patronus next term. Everyone quickly joined in on the conversation eagerly speculating what form their Patronuses would take.

Harry left the group to their conversation, and went to find his notes and organize them. Neville joined him, wanting to discuss the merits of different wand-gripping techniques.

Their quiet conversation was interrupted when a loud exclamation from Hermione drew their attention. Hermione's normally level voice was raised much higher than normal with annoyance. "Your Patronus is  _not_  going to be a Fligby Flutterloo, Luna!"

"Why do you think that?" asked Luna curiously "Is it because I'm too grounded for an animal as flighty as that? I must admit I'm a bit afraid of that myself."

"No," Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "no Luna, it's not because I think you're not flighty enough. It's because Fligby Flutterloos DON'T EXIST!"

"What makes you say that?" asked Luna, genuine astonishment in her voice.

"Well, for one thing, I haven't seen anything, not one scrap of evidence, to indicate that they do exist."

"Have you received any evidence that indicates that they don't?" asked Luna thoughtfully.

"That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Hermione, "If your only basis for assuming something exists is that no evidence has ever been shown to prove otherwise, then by that logic, almost anything in this entire world is possible!"

"Exactly." Luna's eyed gleamed, "Anything in this entire world is possible. Doesn't it excite you? Anything your imagination is wild enough to come up with might be true? Isn't that marvelous? So many possibilities!" She looked positively delighted at the prospect.

Harry tried to imagine living with the constant belief that anything you imagined existed. And having an imagination like Luna's. He stopped when he felt himself going cross-eyed.

"Luna," Hermione was protesting again, but this time her voice was soft and amused, Luna's excitement at all the imaginary things the world might have to offer had charmed her as well, "it's at nice thought, but how often does it happen that people find out something existed that they never knew of or imagined before?"

"Oh, quite often." replied Luna earnestly, "Just think- a couple hundred years ago, people actually thought the earth was  _ball shaped_! Of all things!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Soon after, Neville and Ron headed out together, discussing Quidditch. Hermione, Luna and Ginny followed them some minutes later, with Ginny walking wisely in between the other two, acting as mediator.

Harry would have left with them, but Cho had quietly asked him to stay behind, so Harry remained, fiddling absently with a Christmas bobble, courtesy of Dobby's dubious decorating skills, that had fallen to the floor.

He had a feeling he knew what was coming next, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Hermione had reported to him that Cho was unhappy and crying frequently. Apparently, she was having a hard time getting over Cedric's death. Harry braced himself.

When she asked him about what happened in the graveyard, it didn't come as a surprise, but as an undesirable, though expected, eventuality. Harry did not like to think of the events of last summer, and he wanted to think about them even less at the moment than usual, given his recent experience, but Cho was in distress and obviously need closure, so Harry replied to her inquiries as delicately as possible.

No, he doesn't think learning any of this would have made a difference for Cedric. Yes, it did bring back some bad memories. No, it was perfectly fine that she was asking, she deserved to know. Marry Christmas to her too… Thank you, he hopes he does manage to be a good teacher. Um… he likes her too, thanks. Yes, that is mistletoe…

He realized what was coming a second before it did.

Her lips were soft on his, but there was no spark, no feeling of excitement that came from uniting with a person who completes you in ways you'd never experienced before. They were just lips.

"Cho," he said softly "I… I don't think…" he took a deep breath, and chose his words carefully, seeing she was on the verge of tears and desperately hoping he could avoid the imminent crying fit. "Cho, you're really great, but you're still sad about Cedric, so I don't think… Maybe this isn't the right time…"

"This isn't just because of Cedric." said Cho, understanding what he was trying to say, "I liked you even before, though I didn't know you as well as Cedric, which is why I ended up going with him. I really do like you Harry."

Oh Merlin, he was going to have to reject her. What if she would ask why she wasn't good enough? What if she would cry? There was no other option, he had to give her the explanation that would cause her the least heartache. The fact that he had recently discovered it was in fact true was just an added bonus.

"Cho, I'm pretty sure that I maybe might be not attracted to girls."

She gaped. "You're gay?"

Harry nodded awkwardly, without meeting her eyes.

"But you asked me to the Yule ball last year!"

"Yes," said Harry, "and at the time I really did fancy you. The thing is that in retrospect, I saw someone who was pretty and nice, and therefore fancied you. I don't think there was a personal connection between us though, and I think that the kind of connection you need to form in a romantic relationship is one that I can only form with another boy." He didn't say 'boys' in the plural, she had a lot of information to take in as it was, and he honestly didn't know how she would react or if he even wanted her to know.

Unfortunately, tears were running down Cho's cheeks again. Fortunately, she no longer seemed like she was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Thank you for telling me, Harry." she finally said quietly, "I hope we can still be friends." and she embraced him.

Harry made to leave soon after, to give her some privacy with her thoughts (and maybe to have a cry). Walking out of the door he walked straight into Luna.

"I'm sorry." said Luna placidly as he walked into her, "I'd come back so I could walk with Cho to our common room, there was something I wanted to talk to her about. I think I may have come at a bad time, though."

Harry wondered how much of their conversation she had caught.

"Never mind," said Luna, continuing her line of thought, "I can walk you back to Gryffindor Tower. There was something about Patronuses I wanted to ask you. When you produce a Patronus, can you only think about a happy memory, or is it possible to produce one just by thinking about things that make you happy?" she asked, falling along step beside him, "Like friends, or chocolate pudding?"

"I'm not sure." replied Harry thoughtfully. During his lessons from Lupin he had gotten the impression that the Patronus required a memory in particular, but when fighting off the dementors that past summer, the thought that had finally produced him Patronus was one of Ron and Hermione.

"I think it might be worth a try." he finally told her.

She nodded seriously.

"So, what did you want to talk to Cho about?" he asked her.

"I think I might have made her feel bad when I spoke about people calling me names and laughing about me behind by back. I want it to be clear that I don't hold any resentment towards her. Cho is a good person, and she always stops the others from bullying me if she sees it."

"But she calls you names?"

"Not to my face, and not out of spite or meanness. What you need to understand is that Cho is a very pretty and social girl, so a lot of people like her and it's always been that way. The thing about people who everyone likes is that they get used to that, and become afraid of losing everyone's regard. So oftentimes they do what the rest do so that they'll keep on being popular."

"It's still not very nice." said Harry, not wanting to bash Cho, but also not wanting Luna to think he approved of her being called names.

"Maybe not, but it's natural." replied Luna serenely, "Being popular is important to everyone. Well, other than to people who've experienced enough to know there are more important things." She gave Harry a meaningful look.

They'd just reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Goodbye Luna." said Harry.

"Goodbye Harry Potter." she replied, "Goodbye Mrs. Fat Lady."

"Fat Lady?" asked Harry incredulously. He knew of course that that was what other students called her among themselves, but calling her that to her face seemed rather tactless.

"That's the name of my portrait." said the Fat Lady irritably, "It's called 'The Fat Lady'. Didn't ever bother to ask, did you?"

Harry apologized contritely, and bid her good night by name before entering the portrait hole. Once out of her sight he laughed, shaking his head.

Bothering to find out more about people he didn't know very well had proved to be quite the interesting experience tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter :)
> 
> I want to thank everyone who wrote a review, they make me so happy! Also, it's really good when you ask questions about the story, because sometimes I don't explain something properly and I'd like to be able to fix and improve that.


	17. Chapter 16

Harry stared out the window in wonder. He had never been on the Hogwarts Express before during the winter, this being the first time he left Hogwarts for Christmas break, and he was surprised at how cozy the compartment felt when staring at the snow outside.

The feeling of excitement at leaving Hogwarts was also new. Usually, when he got on this train heading away from school towards London, the only thing he felt was dread at the prospect of another summer vacation spent at the Dursleys. For the first time, though, he was infected with the excitement of leaving school for vacation. This time, he would not be returning to his hated family, but rather visiting Sirius in his family home until Christmas. He would spend Christmas Eve there, and on Christmas morning would commute to Privet Drive, where he would spend Christmas morning with the Holmes family.

This was less for the sake of Sherlock, who he saw so often nowadays that Yorry had a permanent place set for both him and Sherlock at Tom's kitchen table. The visit was for the sake of Mummy, to whom Harry had made a promise upon leaving for Hogwarts that he would come and visit during Christmas break.

After visiting Sherlock came the only part of the holiday Harry was seriously dreading- Tom would attempt to reabsorb his Horcruxes. Narcissa Malfoy had written to Gringotts, and had gotten a reply that she would receive the cup within the next week. Once he had the cup, Tom would be ready to begin the painful process of reversing the Horcruxes through remorse.

Harry shuddered. He couldn't help but feel his heartbeat increase in fright when he recalled that it said in the book that the pain of it could kill Tom, despite all of Tom's reassurances that it would all be fine.

Trying to shake off the unpleasant thought, Harry focused on his friends around him.

The compartment door had just opened to reveal Ron and Hermione. They quickly joined Harry, Neville, Ginny and Luna in the compartment, and closed the door behind them, complaining of the cold in the corridor.

"Thank Merlin the prefect's meeting was short!" exclaimed Ron "From this moment forth I can, and will, forget about the existence of school and just enjoy Christmas! Though, it is a shame we have to celebrate it at- er… my aunt Muriel's house."

Since Neville and Luna weren't aware of the Order of the Phoenix or it's headquarters, they couldn't discuss Grimmauld Place in their presence.

"It's the dankest and most depressing home I've ever been in." continued Ron "You'll see, Harry. I'm so jealous you don't have to spend your whole holiday there like I do."

"Yes, Harry, remind us again where you're going after Christmas and why?" asked Ginny, sounding nonchalant, though Harry could see how eagerly she, Ron and Hermione were gauging his reaction to the question.

"I just thought it might be nice to visit some other friends during Christmas break as well." said Harry.

"And what friends were those, again?" questioned Hermione with faux casualness.

"Look, I'd like to tell you," lied Harry "but remember how last summer everyone kept writing to me asking me to tell them where I was? Well, they all sent me to the Dursleys in the first place, and I don't want them, nor do I think they have the right to know where I spent my summer. I'm finally independent of the people who hate me for the first time in my life, and I don't want to go back there, so I'm keeping my friend a secret!"

His voice was almost at a shout when he finished, and his friends were all looking at him strangely. Well, other than Luna, whose eyes were obscured by enormous triangle shaped orange-tinted glasses.

"You don't need to get so defensive, Harry." said Ron incredulously "We might be curious, but we're not attacking you or anything. Everyone here knows you're going to be visiting your secret girlfriend."

"Secret girlfriend?" asked Harry, shocked.

"I think he means secret boyfriend." said Luna quietly.

"Secret boyfriend?" Now it was Ron's turn to be surprised "What makes you think it's a boyfriend?"

"Well, Harry told Cho-" began Luna, but Harry cut her off. "What makes you think I have a secret girlfriend? Or boyfriend?"

Ginny rolled her eyes "Please, Harry, you're not exactly subtle. In fact, you're such an open book that even Ron reached the right conclusion. You might want to try and appear less happy and satiated when you enter the common room 30 seconds before curfew next time. Or at least button your robes up properly. Anyways, what makes you think it's a boyfriend Luna? What did Harry tell Cho?"

Luna repeated the conversation between the two. It appeared she had overheard it. And hadn't even the decency to look embarrassed at admitting to eavesdropping!

"I just said it to let Cho down easy." grumbled Harry "She looked like she was on the verge on crying, I didn't want her to feel bad."

"Harry!" said Luna reprovingly "Now, I know that's not true, because I'm wearing my lie detecting glasses!"

Harry looked at her orange triangular glasses doubtfully. On one hand, Luna often believed in things that didn't really seem to exist. On the other hand, he knew there was magic capable of detecting lies. Barty Crouch disguised as Moody had shown him the one he owned last year.

"It's okay, Harry." said Neville quietly "I don't think anyone here minds what your sexual preference is."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" exclaimed Ron, amused "I don't know how well Harry's sexual preference meshes with the huge wedding Ginny was planning for the both of them. Does this mean you're not going to secretly sign your diaries Ginny Potter anymore?"

Ginny's wand twitched in her hand, and enormous pimples started sprouting on Ron's face.

"Disregarding any silly little fantasies I might have held at the age of seven, Neville's quite right, Harry. You can date a boy if you want." she said nonchalantly.

Harry tactfully decided not to mention the fact that her crush had not ended at age seven, and had continued all the way to her twelfth year. Instead, he tried to express his gratitude towards his friends. "Thank you for being so accepting about this. And I'm sorry I lied. I was going to be honest, but then it occurred to me that wizards might be less accepting of this kind of thing than muggles are."

"Why would we be?" asked Ron, sounding highly offended.

"Well, whenever I'm in a wizarding place like Hogwarts or Diagon Ally, I always feel like I've traveled back to the eighteenth century, what with the fact you write with quills and wear robes, I thought maybe you hold the same attitude towards same-sex couples as people back then did."

"Well, we don't!" said Ron indignantly.

"The wizarding world has a very different view of homosexuality than the muggle one does." said Ginny mildly "At least, that's the impression I got when we learned about it in muggle studies."

"How is it different?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Well, though homosexuality is accepted in the muggle world-"

"It isn't, though." contradicted Hermione "Or, at least not by everyone, not in all countries…"

"Well, I guess we only learned about the UK." replied Ginny defensively. "The point is, that in the muggle world there is something called 'The Gay Community', and it has a culture surrounding it. They have parades and movements and the like. We don't have that in the magical world. Gay people don't get together on their own, they're kind of treated like any normal couple. Only I think sometimes people feel sorry for them for being gay, like you would for a heterosexual couple that's biologically incapable of having children."

"In the muggle world they teach you that you can be either straight or gay," explained Harry "and that they're both perfectly fine-"

"Bit silly to even mention it in the first place," grumbled Ginny "It either happens or it doesn't, whether you're taught about it or not."

"As I was saying, most muggles you ask will say that homosexuality is okay, but I don't know how many of them really think that. Uncle Vernon probably pretends to be fine with it when he's sucking up to someone important and trying to show them how enlightened he is, but at home he never hid the fact that it disgusted him."

"Don't worry, Harry," said Luna, patting his arm comfortingly "no one here thinks any the worse of you for your preferences. It's not like you have any control over it anyways, your mother was probably dosed with the Unum Putissimum potion while she was pregnant with you. It's part of a plot by the Muggle British Government to ensure that the wizarding world will die out within a few generations."

"Alright." said Harry awkwardly while Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Anyways," continued Luna serenely "it would be quite hypocritical of me to judge you considering what happened between Hermione and I earlier this term."

Harry's jaw dropped. He noted absently that the rest of the car was staring at Luna and Hermione with the exact same expression of shock he was probably sporting. It was common knowledge that Luna and Hermione didn't get along. Hermione was constantly annoyed by Luna's outlandish beliefs, and if there was one thing that caused Luna to lose her cool and peaceful demeanor it was when people spoke ill of The Quibbler and its ideas.

"Luna!" scolded Hermione "I asked you to keep it on the down low!"

"I did!" said Luna surprised "That's why we did it on the floor, isn't it?"

Ron's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

Hermione groaned. "It's a muggle phrase. It means keep it a secret. Look, just- don't tell anyone more about it, alright? No offense, but I don't think it will become a reoccurring event."

"Of course." agreed Luna easily "Our outlooks on the world are too incompatible for us to be able to form an emotional attachment of the romantic nature. It was quite fun though, wasn't it?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "Yes, Luna, it was very fun."

"In any case," continued Luna "I've become quite invested in forming a romantic relationship that involves emotions as well. Recent research has suggested, that the Wrackspurt-repelling potion is far more effective if the pubic hair that is added after the gillyweed was plucked after meaningful sex, rather than just sex of an exclusively carnal nature."

At this moment, Neville let out a snort which he failed to stifle. This seemed to open a floodgate, and the whole compartment burst out laughing. Other than Luna, who looked politely confused, and Ron who looked a bit distressed. This didn't surprise Harry, who had long suspected that Ron fancied Hermione slightly.

As the laughter in the compartment died down, and everyone returned to their own occupation, a relative quiet ensued. Amid the soft sounds of Ron's chewing and the small explosions from Neville and Ginny's exploding snap game, Harry had time to think.

Hermione had always kept more of her life private from Harry and Ron than they had from her. She'd gone a whole year without telling either of them that she had a time-turner, and he hadn't known who her date for the Yule Ball was until the evening of the Ball itself. Still, in previous years he had at least known that Hermione was keeping something from him, he had sensed the nervous glances, mysterious smiles, and clever evasions.

This new tidbit of information though, it had caught him completely by surprise. He hadn't even had a slight suspicion. Had he really drifted that far apart from his friends?

Of course, Harry had no one to blame but himself, Ron and Hermione could never know about the people who were becoming a bigger part of his life by the day, and it definitely contributed to their drifting apart. Sometimes Harry felt like they no longer knew him.

Well, he would never be able to tell them about Sherlock and Tom, of that Harry was certain, but he wouldn't allow the situation to remain the way it was. His friends might not have known him like they used to, but they still loved and accepted him without question.

Hermione raised her head from the book she was reading, and smiled at Harry when he caught her eye. Then she raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly. Hermione would not rest until she understood why Harry was choosing to keep his boyfriend secret.

Harry shrugged unhelpfully at her. Hermione shook her head at him again, but then returned to her book.

* * *

Two weeks later found Harry stepping out of a cab across the street from Madame Tussaud's in London. Tom was to meet him there and apparate them both to Little Whinging so they could spend Christmas day at Sherlock's house. The location had been suggested by Harry, who suspected his friends might try to follow him in order to discover more about his 'Secret Boyfriend' who he still refused to tell them anything about. If Harry was being followed, a crowded location close to the underground was the ideal place to lose his friends.

Looking around for Tom, he realized how hard spotting him would be amidst the bustling crowd of tourists.

"Harry!" a voice whispered in his ear. Harry jumped. Turning around, he frowned as he examined Tom. "Your eyes are blue and your cheekbones are much sharper. Why the new glamour?"

"You said your friends might follow you. Isn't there one who knows what I look like? The one who had my diary?" Tom inquired.

"I'm not sure if you actually showed her memories of your past self like you did for me," mused Harry thoughtfully "but you might've, and better safe than sorry. Good thinking."

Tom tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Did you bring the gift?" Harry asked.

"I have Sherlock's right back at home. Considering it's magical nature, I thought it best that he receive it at my home. I was thinking though, that I would like to get something for his mum as well. A nice bottle of wine, perhaps? I want her to like me."

"Well, I think she'll like you anyways." Harry answered confidently "She has Sherlock for a son. I think she's really good at not noticing how socially adept you are, but knowing to look for how a person really is on the inside. You care for Sherlock and that'll be what's most important to her."

"I'd still feel better if I didn't come empty handed." said Tom nervously, so they apparated to a shop Harry knew in Diagon Alley and bought an expensive bottle of Firewhiskey which as far as Harry and Tom could tell, held no magical properties that would raise suspicion if given to a muggle.

Satisfied that he was now prepared to meet Sherlock's family properly, Tom finally wrapped his arms around Harry, taking the opportunity to drop a soft kiss on his hair, and apparated them both to Privet Drive in Little Whinging.

A short walk later, Harry ducking when they walked past number four, and they had reached Sherlock's house. The door opened soon after they knocked, and Harry grinned as Mummy's familiar face came into view.

"Harry!" she exclaimed "I'm so happy to see you!" and she drew him into a tight hug.

Harry grinned back at her, once she let him go.

"And I'm afraid I don't know who you are." she added, turning to Tom.

"Hello!" he greeted her with a smile "I'm Tom."

Getting a blank look in reply, Tom blushed.

"I'm a friend of Sherlock's." his eyes softened and his lips parted in a tender and adoring smile as he said Sherlock's name "He invited me to spend Christmas brunch with you. I'm guessing he forgot to tell you though?"

Harry frowned at Tom. Tom never blushed. Also the way Tom usually demonstrated his affection towards Sherlock and Harry was through a slight quirk of his lips when he stared at them, or allowing his hand to linger for a few seconds longer than was normal. This open display of caring was new to him, and Harry realized that the change in Tom's behavior was for Mummy's benefit.

The smiling and openly earnest expression on Tom's face was slightly familiar, but it looked quite foreign on Tom's face. It irked Harry to see such a look on the handsome face: assumed rather than genuine. He supposed, though, that at least Tom cared enough to want to make a good impression on Mummy. And that was rather nice.

"Oh, don't worry about it." said Mummy easily "There's plenty of room for one more person, and I'm very very happy to have you. The only person who should be apologizing is Sherlock."

Turning to face the kitchen she shouted for her youngest son. "Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you invited another guest to Christmas brunch?"

"Unimportant!" came the shouted reply. "You always make so much food we eat the leftovers until New Year's. I knew you'd have no trouble accommodating another person."

Mummy rolled her eyes, but didn't reply. Harry supposed she knew a futile battle when she saw one.

Turning back to Tom, Mummy smiled again. "Sherlock's quite right in one aspect, accommodating you will be no trouble at all. In fact, I'm delighted to meet any friend of Sherlock's."

Tom smiled charmingly, and smoothed his hair in an unnecessary gesture- his hair was already lying completely flat. Harry frowned as he tried to remember why the gesture seemed familiar. Then, realizing why he was feeling such a sense of deja-vu, he snickered quietly. In an attempt to impress Mummy, Tom had decided to act like Harry. He was emulating him right down to the subconscious hand gestures.

"So how have you been, Harry?" Mummy asked pleasantly "you'll forgive me for monopolizing your time here, but I think I deserve to have most of your attention. I haven't seen you for almost four months. Sherlock, on the other hand... You've been sneaking out of your school to see him, haven't you? So he can wait for a bit, since he's seen you more recently."

Harry stared at her in surprise. According to the information he had gleaned from Sherlock, he had inherited his deducing skills from his father rather than his mother. And Mummy had never shown any special skill at deducing before. Maybe Sherlock was rubbing off on her.

"How did you know I was sneaking out of school to see Sherlock?" he asked, wondering if it was the crease on his shirt that gave him away, or the cut on his chin he had received that morning shaving.

"Well, Sherlock's been sneaking out of the house at a much higher frequency than he used to before he met you, so I've suspected it for a while. He confirmed it for me today when he stayed up in his room to finish some experiment even though he knew you were here. If he really hadn't seen you for four months, he would have dropped whatever it was he was doing up there to come and greet you."

Harry nodded his head in acknowledgement to her logic, and followed her into the kitchen as she started talking to Tom, asking him to tell her a bit about himself.

Tom replied with the fabricated story they had all agreed on in advance, while Mummy made them tea.

"Mummy, where do you keep the- oh."

The source of the interruption was a handsome and slightly robust man who looked like he was in his twenties. Harry concluded that this was Mycroft.

"Mycroft, meet Harry and Tom, they're Sherlock's friends."

Mycroft raised a brow. "The last time I saw Sherlock his closest friend was a smiley face painted onto a wall. Not half a year later, and he suddenly has not one, but two friends. Interesting."

"The change of place has been good for him. What about you, Mycroft? I had hoped the new job would aid you in meeting people on your intellectual level that you might feel more comfortable around and actually become friends with.

"Mycroft just started a new job with the government." Mummy explained, turning to Harry and Tom "I'm not sure what it is exactly that he is doing, he refuses to tell me. He says it's top secret."

Mycroft sighed, pinching his nose. "You telling every stranger you meet about my job being secret defeats the point of the secret! You're not supposed to blab about this freely!"

Mummy's eyes narrowed at Mycroft's use of the word 'blab'. "Harry and Tom aren't strangers. And maybe if you weren't such a goody two shoes, and didn't stick to the rules so insistently, you'd find it easier to make friends."

"I assure you that my lack of companions is not due to any flaw on my part," said Mycroft primly "I don't wish to befriend any of them, they are too childish. They constantly try to play pranks on me because I am the 'new guy'. Just two weeks ago they tried to convince me that the new mission we'd received was to destroy all evidence that a terrorist cell managed to genetically engineer flesh-eating killer koala bears. And a week ago they told me that 10% of all British citizens can use magic and have their own secret society, as if I'd fall for that!"

Harry choked on his tea.

* * *

Tom sighed in contentment at the feeling of Harry's fingers running through his hair. They were lying in Tom's bed at his home after returning from a pleasant Christmas brunch at Sherlock's house in Privet Drive.

He had succeeded in his primary goal of endearing himself to Sherlock's mother, despite a slight hiccup on the way in the form of Mycroft. After observing Tom for a few minutes, Mycroft had demanded that Tom reveal what it was he was hiding. Tom pleaded ignorance, but Mycroft insisted that subtle body language on Tom's part indicated that he wasn't nearly as comfortable and relaxed as he was pretending to be and was simply putting on a show for their sakes.

Tom, who had indeed spent the majority of the morning concentrating on seeming like a nicer, politer, and a more openly warm person than he really was, felt uneasy at being called out, but Mrs. Holmes's reaction had been reassuring.

She had simply laughed and told Mycroft that most people make an attempt to be more polite and good tempered when in the presence of people they don't know and don't yet feel comfortable with. Which was a nice way of putting it, Tom mused, he himself had always thought of it as manipulating people into liking him.

Tom was glad she seemed to like him, because while neither he nor Harry had grown up with a mother in their lives, he knew that both of them sensed the importance of one, and how big a part Mrs. Holmes played in Sherlock's life. Loving Sherlock brought about a desire to connect to the other person who loved him above all else.

Tom looked at Sherlock through half-lidded eyes he was struggling to keep open as Harry's fingers lulled him to sleep. Sherlock was staring at the ceiling, tossing the skull that he had christened Lockhart into the air and catching it again.

He felt himself drift off to sleep, only to be elbowed to full wakefulness by Harry after emitting a soft snore. "You can't go to sleep yet, Tom! I know you don't generally celebrate Christmas, but surely you haven't forgotten about presents?"

"Ah, yes!" said Tom, sitting up and reaching for his wand "You can have yours first!" and with a wave of his arm, a dark object came flying into view. "Close your eyes for a second, Harry," instructed Sherlock quickly "we forgot to wrap it."

Tom hurried to conjure a black box, and placed their present in, before instructing a sniggering Harry to open his eyes. His eyes widened in surprise, and then excitement as he surveyed the present inside.

"A pistol! I love it! This is far more intimidating than a wand! I should start dressing like a cowboy!"

"Cowboy?" asked Tom.

"Never mind." said Sherlock quickly "Harry, that isn't a normal gun, we enchanted it. Since you got into so much trouble last summer just for defending yourself from getting your soul sucked out, we thought it would be a good idea to allow you to use magic and remain undetected. You can cast spells into the gun, and as long as you do that somewhere safe, like in Hogwarts or around an adult witch or wizard, it shouldn't be detected. Afterwards, you can fire the spell out of the gun whenever and wherever without the ministry picking up on it."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh. That's even better than what I thought it was. Thank you two so much!"

"Sherlock forgot to mention another use." added Tom, smirking slightly "If you cast enough spells between loading the gun and firing it, it won't be detectable with a Priori Incantatem spell. So if, for example, you were to turn Dolores Umbridge into a toad using the pistol, she would have no way of proving it was you."

"I'm quite glad to no longer be on your bad side, Tom." said Harry, grinning "Shall we give Sherlock his present now?"

"Yes, let's." Tom replied, grinning in anticipation "On three?" at Harry's nod he began counting, ignoring the suspicious look on Sherlock's face "One. Two. Three."

Simultaneously, they both waved their wands in a synchronized motion and then pointed them at Sherlock, incanting "Aditum Anguis Mente."

Sherlock's eyes widened "Oh. Interesting. Have you just shared your knowledge of Parseltongue with me?"

"How did you understand us?" asked Harry incredulously.

"I didn't." Sherlock replied dryly "But you were obviously speaking Parseltongue and you pointed your wand first at you heads and then at me. It was the obvious conclusion. In any case you should long ago have realized that I know everything. Including Parseltongue now, it appears."

"Let's test it!" said Harry "Nagini!"

The snake came slithering in lazily. "How can I serve Masterss?"

Sherlock gasped in delight, indicating that he understood her for the first time.

"See if you can speak to her, Sherlock." Tom instructed.

"Can you understand me, Nagini?" asked Sherlock.

"Yess Master, but you have sstrange accent."

Harry chuckled. "Your Ss are a bit pronounced. Alright, that'll be all Nagini."

"Very well," replied Nagini "then I shall go back to sleep." And she slithered away.

"Well, as you can see," Tom said, turning to Sherlock "having a pet you can talk to isn't nearly as interesting as it sounds, but Harry and I both thought that you're creative enough to put it to a better use than either of us ever did."

"So do you like it?" asked Harry nervously, voicing the question Tom himself was too proud to ask.

They had spent quite an inordinate amount of time on developing the spell. Especially Harry who knew nothing of crafting spells, but had insisted on learning all that he could. The present wouldn't really be from him, he had explained to Tom, if he just let Tom do all the research and work of developing the spell, and all he did was cast it. He wanted to put hard work into this so that it would be as much a present from him as it was from Tom. Harry was a quick learner when he was actually interested in learning something, but he didn't take to the principles of magic-crafting with the ease that Tom had always found when learning, and it had been hard work for him. Tom held his breath in anticipation waiting for Sherlock's reply, knowing he wasn't one to mince words, or lie to please others.

"Very much so." was Sherlock's reply "I've often mourned the incredible waste of you two having the power while I didn't. It never seemed right to me that you should be the ones with the ability when you never did anything useful with it, while I was stuck imagining all the things I could be doing if I could talk to snakes. I'm glad the mistake the universe had made has been righted."

Tom laughed, smacking Sherlock's arm affectionately.

"And as for your present, Tom, I suppose I shouldn't have lectured you on usefulness just now, considering how little you really need the gift, but Harry suggested it, and I must confess I rather liked the idea." He pulled a small black box out of the pocket of his pants.

"A ring?" asked Tom upon opening the box and seeing a gold band "Are you two proposing?"

Harry snorted. "Put it on and see what it does!"

As Tom slipped it onto his finger, he saw his fingers lengthen and turn bony and white. Bringing his hands to his head revealed that his head was now bald, his cheeks sunken and hollow.

"For your followers." explained Harry "So you can still look intimidating and scary around them."

Oh no. Tom's eyes widened. Had they really forgotten what had happened the first time they met?

"I appreciate the thought," he said gently "but- Sherlock, Harry, don't you know that this is how I really look? When you came to hear the prophecy you asked me to change myself to look less repulsive because it was 'ruining your appetite'. It was a joke, but I did become invested in you finding me attractive at a very early point in our acquaintance, so I've been walking around with a changed appearance most of the time. I don't really need the ring. I appreciate the gesture, but I already look like this."

Harry shook his head. "It's not for now; it's for after you reabsorb your Horcruxes- you'll look normal again, like you do now, only you won't need a spell to look that way. And then you'll need new magic to make you look like Voldemort when you're around your followers. We know that you can probably just spell yourself to look that way without our help, but we thought this would be a kind of symbolic thing. To show you that we believe that you can do this: feel remorse and heal your soul and be whole again and come out of the ordeal safe and healthy and better."

Sherlock took over for Harry, who had begun rambling slightly. "What we're really trying to say is that you're such a separate person from Voldemort to us that you need a special enchantment just to look like him. Anything that you did in the past is over with as far as we're concerned, and by New Year's you won't ever have to be scared of losing yourself again."

Tom stared at the ring silently for a few moments, contemplating its meaning. "Thank you for this." he finally said softly, looking up at them "Thank you so much."

* * *

Tom stared at the objects in front of him. Out of the six Horcruxes he had made only three remained. The diary had been destroyed by Harry, the locket by Regulus Black, and Tom had a suspicion that the missing ring had been destroyed by Dumbledore.

Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem sat on the desk in front of him. The last Horcrux, Nagini, was present in the room. Tom could hear her occasional hiss alongside the quiet breaths of Sherlock and Harry. They were both hovering at the very corner of the large room, trying to give Tom space and privacy, but too nervous to allow him to do what he was about to do alone.

Tom examined the diadem. The plan was for it to remain a Horcrux. Tom was too nervous to be completely without a Horcrux until the time it took him to create the new undetectable one he would hide where it would never be found. Once he created that new Horcrux he could reverse the diadem Horcrux, leaving himself with only one Horcrux and thus guarding himself against insanity.

Privately, Tom wanted to put off the making of that one last Horcrux as much as he could. Creating a new Horcrux would mean committing murder, and after all the lives Tom had put an end to and all the families he had torn apart, he was reluctant to commit another murder, even if it was of a murderer or rapist or terminally ill patient as planned.

No matter, the diadem would be kept safe, which meant Tom was safe, which would be enough for now.

Next, Tom turned to examine the cup.

It had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, who was best remembered for her kindness and acceptance of all students. Turning it into a vessel for a Horcrux, created by an act of murder and hate was truly a perversion.

Of course, he had hardly been himself when he had committed the act that created the Horcrux. He didn't even remember how he had done it.

Tom shook his head. The time for excuses had passed. Now was the time for him to stop telling himself nice little lies that helped him sleep better at night, it was time for him to face the truth.

Even if he had not been himself when he had created all the Horcruxes, that was no excuse for his actions. In his moments of sanity he had realized what had happened to him, and he had guessed the cause, and yet he had not tried to reabsorb them all until now. Why? Fear of the pain of guilt? That was no excuse. With every moment of sanity in which he did nothing about the Horcruxes he allowed the next murder which would inevitably happen once insanity took over, and that only increased the weight of guilt. Fear of the relative lack of safety that came with only one Horcrux? That was not a good reason either. He was the biggest danger to himself when he was Voldemort, acting rashly and foolishly out of sadistic impulses that held no grip in reality or strategy. It was what had gotten him killed by Harry. So what was the driving force behind his actions?

There were two, really, he realized, each more pathetic than the other. The first was his reason for creating his first two Horcruxes, while he was still sane. It was his arrogance and hatred towards others. The conviction that he was big, that he was strong, that he was better than them. All those pathetic bullies in the orphanage that treated him like he was the scum of the earth, all those arrogant Slytherins who treated him as if he were as lowly as a slave and then expected him to forget their previous actions once they realized his power and potential and became his sycophantic admirers instead. He was so much better than them. At least, that was what he believed. That was why he was the one who created Horcruxes, despite the fact that there were many who were scared of death. The belief that his life was of so much more worth than the others' pathetic existence that he was entitled to take their life to assure the continuation of his. And in the end, it was all just a stupid and disgusting reaction of a boy trying to rationalize why there was no one who gave a damn about him- he'd decided he was superior to them, to everyone.

And then there was the second motive, the one that kept him from reabsorbing his Horcruxes for so long even though he knew the damage they were causing him and all those around him- cowardice. He hadn't wanted to admit to himself that in his arrogance and stupidity he had become much worse than any of the people he had despised. The knowledge that he had allowed the madness and cruelty to continue simply because he was afraid to acknowledge what a colossal mistake he had made disgusted him. He forced himself to acknowledge it now.

One by one, he made himself examine each and every life he had taken.

First was Myrtle. She had died because he had been careless, and hadn't cared enough to take proper safety measures when taking out the Basilisk. In fact, he secretly hoped someone would accidentally die so that he would be able to create his Horcrux. All she had been was a miserable little girl who, thanks to Tom's actions, would now never be able to grow, find love, or learn to be happy. Forever just a poor sad little girl.

Next, his father. An arrogant, cruel and selfish fool, but no more so than Tom himself.

His grandparents were killed soon after. Snobbish and rude, maybe, but he knew nothing more about them. Surely that was not a crime that warranted death?

After them, Hepzibah Smith. Just a little old lady whose only offense was wanting to be loved. Now that he had experienced the emotion for himself, how could Tom condemn her for that?

One by one he forced himself to think of his victims, to face head on what he had shied away from for so many years. Person by person, face by face, he forced himself to acknowledge all those he knew of that had died as a result of his cowardice. He would never again ignore the damage he had caused, he would no longer close his eyes and try to forget. He forced himself to picture the face of each and every person who had been murdered by his hand, faltering only once. He shuddered as an image popped into his mind of a handsome man who looked like Harry and a woman with familiar green eyes. Anything but that. He couldn't handle thinking about that. Tom forced himself to think of Quirrell, the next victim of his, to forget the two sad faces, staring at him accusingly. Focus on the rest of them.

Quirrell. Then Bertha Jorkins. Quirrell had been far from innocent, but oh Bertha, what he had done to her... What had become of her could have been avoided if he had reabsorbed the Horcruxes earlier, instead of shying away from the truth, cruelly sealing her fate as well as the fate of so many others. So many had died because of his arrogance and stupidity, because of his cowardice and fear. Why should he live while they died? He, who only caused damage to anything he touched?

He reached for his wand, intent on ending the vicious cycle of murder and cruelty, only to feel himself restrained by two sets of strong arms holding him back. They were carrying him, and laying him gently on the sofa. He struggled against them. Didn't they understand? He didn't deserve to live! His whole life was a series of tragedies he brought upon others, and it was time for that to end. He was in so much pain, it just needed to end! Let it end! He became vaguely aware that he was sobbing, before he passed on into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter.
> 
> Gah, that was dark. I need some candy and a hug.
> 
> Thank you so much Kai19 for pointing out all my grammar and spelling errors!
> 
> And thank you people who review! I really hope you keep doing it- I promise to answer every review I get!


	18. Chapter 17

Harry gritted his teeth as he held a struggling Tom against the couch.

Seeing him like this, wracked by guilt, sobbing uncontrollably, was extremely difficult. As Tom's struggles began to grow weaker, Harry finally allowed himself to be distracted by the strange shadows rising from all of the Horcruxes present in the room. Both from the table, where the Diadem and the Cup were placed, to Nagini, who was writhing in distress on the floor near his feet, there seemed to be dark shadows rising, writhing fretfully, as if trying to pull themselves apart. He watched in awe as suddenly, faint balls of light extracted themselves from the shadowy mist,which dissipated, and entered Tom. Tom gave one last heart wrenching scream of anguish before falling unconscious. For a brief second, a faint white light remained, shining from Tom's body, before it too faded away.

"It worked!" panted Sherlock, finally letting go of Tom and wiping his forehead. "I counted six lights, do you know what that means?" He immediately continued, not waiting for an answer "It means he also managed to reabsorb the Horcruxes that were already destroyed, Tom's whole again."

"You know what else that means." replied Harry darkly.

Sherlock nodded. "Six lights."

"He reversed the Diadem Horcrux as well. Up until half an hour ago he was planning to keep it as a Horcrux. Why do you think he decided to reabsorb it?" Harry glanced down at Tom worriedly.

"I'm not sure it was a conscious decision on his part." replied Sherlock thoughtfully "You saw for yourself that he wasn't completely aware towards the end, and remorse is a complicated business. It's an emotion, nothing so clear and quantifiable as matter. Maybe once you feel remorse, all your Horcruxes are cured whether you intend it or not."

"Do you think he knows?" asked Harry nervously.

"No use wondering that." said Sherlock shortly "We'll know if he's aware soon enough. The real question is: If he doesn't know- do we tell him?"

Harry stared at Sherlock, openly surprised. "You're considering keeping it a secret?"

"How would he react if he knew he had no safety net? No lifeline? No guarantee for immortality?"

"I suppose he'd make another Horcrux," said Harry slowly, trying to figure out the direction Sherlock was going in "he was going to do that anyways, eventually."

"He'd need to kill to do that." said Sherlock.

"I know that!" said Harry slightly irritably "Of course I know that! But he'd just kill a murderer or rapist, like we planned, or put a suffering person out of their misery. It won't be an act of evil."

"He's not like you, Harry." replied Sherlock quietly "He's not even like me, and heaven knows I'm a far less moral person than you. He has a past I can't even imagine, and don't want to. He's done things that would probably make us sick to our stomach, he's experienced so much hate and coldness. Look at him now-" Tom's face was relaxed in unconsciousness, the pain erased from his features. He looked more at peace than Harry had ever seen him before. "He's escaping the viciousness and the cruelty, he's changing himself and his fate. He's building a new life for himself, and we're lucky enough to be in it. To experience him as he is now- whole, happy, at peace. His soul is finally healed. Do you truly think the best thing for him now is to mutilate it again? No matter how justified the act of murder is, it will still leave its mark, it will still be an act of hatred and anger. Do you really want that for him now?"

"We knew what we were getting into with him from the start." replied Harry, a lump in his throat.

"And I am completely whole with my decision, Harry." said Sherlock calmly "I do love him, even with his ugly past, I don't think anything he does can change that. I want what's best for him though, and I don't think beginning to kill again is it."

"You're right." Harry sighed heavily "Killing again is probably the worst thing for him right now. But do we have a right to decide that for him?"

"We don't." said Sherlock with cold finality "But we're still going to do it. If Tom doesn't know that the Diadem is no longer a Horcrux, we do nothing to enlighten him. Agreed?"

Harry sighed morosely and glanced at Tom. It was the sight of the gentle movement of his chest rising and sinking as he breathed quietly that caused him to frown with determination and reply: "Agreed."

* * *

"Ready?" asked Tom, looking way too nervous considering nothing was really supposed to happen.

"I know nothing's really supposed to happen," said Tom, as if reading Sherlock's thoughts "but I think you might still see some changes in how I look once I remove the glamour. Remember, I still have one Horcrux remaining, so my soul still isn't completely whole. I'm not sure how it will affect my looks, though I'm fairly sure I'll look mostly human, even if a few slightly snakelike features remain."

Sherlock saw Harry's eyebrow twitch at Tom's mention of still having one Horcrux, but he remained silent.

A wave of Tom's wand, and a few whispered words that sounded like nonsense, and the glamour was removed. Sherlock, who had been expecting no change at all in Tom's features, since with no Horcruxes it stood to reason that he would look completely human now, was surprised to notice some subtle changes to Tom's face.

"You know, Tom," he said mischievously "I don't remember your nose being quite that big, or your skin being such a pasty white. In fact, I could swear that until a few seconds ago your nose was slightly sharper and smaller, and you looked as if you'd spent a good couple of hours in the sun."

"I was spelling myself to look human for aesthetic reasons" said Tom, not naming the face he had glamoured away "I saw no reason to include my more unfortunate features."

Sherlock snorted. "Ridiculous."

Harry nodded his agreement. "I like the way your nose looks now. It's more human, somehow."

Tom frowned. "Funny you should say that. The first Horcrux I created hardly caused any physical change in me, unlike the following ones, but the one difference I did notice was that my features were slightly sharper, my nose slightly smaller and my skin slightly paler. So when I removed the spell, I expected my nose to remain smaller, like it was before when I only had one Horcrux. My skin is pale again, like it was after the change, but my facial feature didn't retain their sharpness like I was expecting. I wonder if the Diadem is somehow less of a Horcrux now."

Tom grinned sheepishly at Sherlock's look of incredulity. "I know, it doesn't make any sense, but I can feel that my soul still isn't whole, and yet- I feel closer to my Horcrux, more connected. I feel far more complete than I remember feeling last time I had only one Horcrux."

Harry frowned. "You can feel that you still have a Horcrux?"

Tom nodded emphatically. "When your soul isn't whole, it has an effect. Trust me. I can definitely sense that I'm still not whole." He paused. "Still not whole, but better than before."

Psychosomatic, Sherlock concluded, though he said nothing out loud. Why else would Tom feel as if his soul still wasn't healed?

* * *

Half a block down from the Underground, Harry gave Tom and Sherlock one last hug each. Then Tom wrapped his arm around Sherlock, and after glancing around to make sure they were unnoticed, he apparated them away with a pop.

A few minutes later, and Harry stood in the middle of a bustling crowd, glancing around in search of a familiar face. He spun around when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Wotcher, Harry." said the exotic looking woman with dark skin, green eyes, and hair to match.

"Hey Tonks," said Harry, grinning. He had met Tonks on his very first day in Grimmauld Place, and though her face was different, he couldn't imagine any other Order member walking around with green hair.

Taking him by the hand, she towed him towards the nearest public restroom. Harry caught a teen around his age staring at him and Tonks entering the stall with a look of incredulous jealousy on his face, before she closed the door and Harry felt the squeezing sensation that signified apparition.

Though Harry had been quite reluctant to return to Grimmauld place after the wonderful time he had spent with Tom and Sherlock, he couldn't help feeling a surge of fondness when he entered the kitchen at the familiar sight of Mrs. Weasley stirring a pot over the stove, while Fred and George sat at the table, identical conspiratorial smirks on their faces as they bent over a roll of parchment with Mundungus Fletcher. Lupin and Sirius were discussing something in low tones in the corner of the room. Lupin looked up and smiled when Harry and Tonks arrived. He seemed quite pleased to see them.

Sirius was the first to embrace Harry, though, slapping him on the back with a smile on his face. "Good to see you again, Harry! Did you miss us at all, or were you too busy having fun with your girlfriend?" his tone was teasingly suggestive.

"Boyfriend." corrected George automatically, not raising his eyes from his piece of parchment.

"Oh." said Sirius "Boyfriend then."

"Boyfriend?" Molly Weasley's voice was rather higher than normal as she glanced from George to Harry and back.

"Er... Yes, Mrs. Weasley." replied Harry hesitantly.

"Oh Harry!" she cried, bursting into tears. She flung her arms around him.

As she hugged him and sobbed, Harry panically mouthed 'Help me!' to George, but he just shook his had, and left the room quick on the heals of Mundungus and Fred. A glance at Sirius and Remus showed that they too were edging slowly away from the drama.

Harry was left alone in the kitchen with a sobbing Mrs. Weasley, and it didn't look like she was going to let up anytime soon. Harry twitched nervously, was Molly Weasley very much against homosexuality?

Finally, Molly pulled away enough to look Harry in the eyes, her arms still on his shoulder."Harry, dear, I'm afraid my reaction just now wasn't the best. But I think of you as one of my children, and the news is just as distressing when it is applied to you as it would be if it were one of them.

"Listen, though, Harry. There's something I want to to hear, and keep in mind: You mustn't despair. When the time comes when you want to raise a family-" her voice wobbled dangerously "you might not be able to do it the traditional way, but that doesn't mean you should give up on it. I know I reacted hysterically just now, but remember that this isn't the end of the world, or of any dreams you might have of family life. There is still always adoption. You might think it's not the same as having a child of your own, but it can be. I know, I have an adopted child." she squeezed his shoulder, making Harry blush.

She seemed quite a bit more composed as she let go of him, sniffed and turned back to the stove. "And Arthur was just going on the other day about some newfangled muggle method called 'surrogate motherhood'. Now, Merlin knows, I try to discourage Arthurs muggle obsession wherever I can-" she sniffed "but when the time comes that you want to start a family with the boy you love, I want you to be aware of all the methods available to you."

Harry, who had finally recovered from his initial frightening thought that Molly was rejecting him for his sexual preferences, had to stifle a laugh at the thought of him, Tom and Sherlock ever raising a child. Instead, he simply thanked Mrs. Weasley quietly for her (unneeded, though he wouldn't tell her that) encouragement, and leave the kitchen to go to his room.

On his way upstairs he was stopped by George who apologized for spilling the beans to his mother. "I honestly had no idea she's react like that, mate. Though I guess I should have expect it. Just imagine what it would be like if any of the rest of us ended up being gay: 'I'll never have grandchildren!'" he imitated in a high, wailing voice, then shuddered dramatically. "Well anyways, Harry ol' pal, you've given Fred and I a great idea for what we should do next time Ron starts behaving like a git. As our thanks, we'd like to offer you that very first safe-to-use Fainting Fancy. A rigorous testing of firsties has determined that the chances of this giving you boils on your arse are one in fifty. Save it for a class with Umbridge, and enjoy!"

He thrust the package into Harry's hand, and disappeared into his room. Harry caught a glance of a bucket filled with shining lavender sludge, bubbling slowly, before the door slammed in his face.

Harry put the candy in his pocket for safekeeping, and headed up the stairs to visit Buckbeak.

Sirius was there when he entered the room, and Harry sat down besides him after bowing to Buckbeak and getting bowed back to in return.

"Molly's done with you then?" asked Sirius. Harry nodded and Sirius grimaced in sympathy. "She has good intentions, but that woman interferes too much in your life. She needs to remember that she's not your parent."

Inwardly, Harry disagreed. Mrs. Weasley was a bit overbearing at times, but he was truly touched by how much she cared, and he usually enjoyed her company. He didn't want Sirius to think he was disrespecting his parents' memory, though, so he remained silent.

Sirius must have sensed Harry's discomfort, because he changed to subject to something more frivolous. They sat, chatting, until Harry's stomach growled.

"I'm also quite hungry." said Sirius, sighing "but feel like going back to the noisiness of the kitchen just yet, do you?" Thinking of Molly's tearful face, Harry shook his head emphatically. He hated pity.

Sirius sighed. "I suppose the reasonable step at this point would be to summon Kreacher and asking him to bring us sandwiches." he grimaced at the thought, but nevertheless called for the elf.

"Filthy traitorous Master called?" asked Kreacher calmly. His voice seemed devoid of the hatred Harry had gotten used to hearing. It sounded like he was using the curses more out of habit than anything else.

"Get us sandwiches from the kitchen. You are forbidden from tampering with them in any way."

"Right away, nasty Master." said Kreacher, sounding rather bored. He bowed silently, and popped away.

Harry stared after him incredulously. If he hadn't known better, he would have called the elf peaceful. But he had met Kreacher, he knew it was impossible.

"Did Kreacher seem- different- to you?" he asked Sirius who laughed derisively.

"That would be an understatement. The creepy bugger has been that way ever since Boxing Day. It was the strangest thing, we were all sitting around the kitchen table, eating, when Kreacher ran out of his room holding a locket. It was one we'd thrown out while cleaning the house this summer, we'd long suspected that he managed to save some of the dark artifacts and was keeping them somewhere. It looked like there was something struggling to get out of the locket, some kind of dark silhouette. A few seconds later a little light flew out of it and disappeared. Kreacher just stood there staring at it for a couple of seconds, and then just ran like a maniac, took a knife from the table, and began stabbing the damn thing and banging it against the floor. He looked half-crazed. It didn't take long for the locket to break, of course, the way he was going at it, and once it did Kreacher just sat there, holding the pieces and laughing and crying hysterically by turns. He kept on mumbling things about 'Master Regulus', that was my brother, and rocking back and forth with snot running down his nose until he collapsed from exhaustion. He's been like that ever since- quiet, almost- I'd never believed I'd ever say this- relaxed."

"Have you questioned him about it since?" asked Harry quickly "Did he tell you anything?"

Sirius shrugged. "Not worth the effort it would take. The little bugger's mad, end of story."

Harry made a noncommittal noise, but shook his head when Sirius asked him if he disagreed.

It might interest Tom to know that Regulus hadn't succeeded in destroying the locket back them. If Tom believed his defences were reliable, perhaps he would decide to give up on the idea of making another Horcrux. It was a long shot, but Harry could always hope.

* * *

"Harry, are you listening to me?"

Harry looked up and met Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Yes, Sir." he lied. Dumbledore frowned but said didn't pursue the issue, and Harry wondered if his thoughts were somehow visible on his face.

"This is extremely important, Harry, defeating Voldemort is a matter of life and death for thousands. And the information I am imparting on you here may be our only hope of winning this war."

This sentence caused Harry's thoughts to return to the subject that had been bothering him. What was the point in all this? Dumbledore was investing so much time, effort, and worry on a subject that was moot. Wouldn't it be kinder to just tell him that he had nothing to worry about? Dumbledore, of all people, would be the most likely to give Tom a chance. He was the greatest believer in second chances and redemption that Harry knew. Still, it was not Harry's decision to make, and Tom had made it very clear that he did not want Dumbledore or, indeed, anyone else knowing about his transformation.

So Harry kept his mouth shut, and focused back on his headmaster who, he realized, was busy extracting a memory from his mind and guiding it into the pensieve.

Last session, Dumbledore had shown Harry a memory of Tom's family. His cruel grandfather, his arrogant and rude father, and the poor girl who had been his mother.

It soon became obvious to Harry that they were continuing down the timeline of Tom's life, as Dumbledore continued telling the story of young Merope Riddle after she had been abandoned by her husband.

"This next memory, Harry, holds the missing puzzle piece to the mystery of what happened between Tom Riddle abandoning his wife, and the baby Tom Riddle being born." He prodded the contents of the Pensieve, and an ugly little man with a sneer on his face rose up from the Pensieve and began revolving slowly in place. "Cataractus Burke, of Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley." explained Dumbledore quietly as the figure started talking.

Harry watched with contempt as the man spoke of taking advantage of a starving and pregnant woman with no vestige of emotion or guilt on his face. He was starting to feel upset at Merope, though, as well.

"I don't understand." he told Dumbledore, once the memory ended. "She was a witch, she could do magic! How could she had reached this kind of state?"

"I can only guess the cause, Harry." said Dumbledore. "But I am very intelligent, so my guesses tend to be right. It is my belief that after Tom abandoned her, Merope gave up all use of magic. Perhaps she thought that Tom might have stayed with her had she not been a witch, perhaps her sorry metal state- her despair and hurt at Tom's abandonment, sapped her of her powers. Magic tends to react to emotion. You saw how weak her magic was in the first memory, living in servitude to an abusive father. This may have been the last straw for her. What is clear, is that by the time Tom was born, Merope, whether by choice or not, did not perform any magic that could have saved her life."

"She couldn't even stay alive for her son?" asked Harry angrily. He may have grown up without a mother, but he had taken great solace in the fact that his mother loved him and did all she could to save him. That, Harry felt, was how a mother should act.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Harry, could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"

"What if I am?" retorted Harry dangerously "She abandoned an innocent little baby, without even trying. What he did in the future doesn't change that."

"Harry, my boy," said Dumbledore softly "you are so very strong. You always have been, it is one of your most admirable qualities. It is very unusual, Harry, to be treated with cruelty and know with certainty that the fault is with your tormentors and not with you. Sadly, human nature seems to be the opposite. Merope probably saw herself as weak and useless, she may have even felt that her son would have been better off without her."

Since Harry had never experienced such humiliation and reduction of self, he felt he was in no place to answer and fell silent.

Sensing the subject was closed, Dumbledore took his hand and gestured for Harry to enter the Pensieve, following right after him.

Harry followed the amusingly colourful sight of a youthful Dumbledore through the streets of London, until the auburn-bearded version of his headmaster came to an orphanage. At this point, Harry realized where the memory was going.

He watched silently but with narrowed eyes as the drunken woman who was apparently in charge of the orphanage disparaged Tom in Dumbledore's eyes. Harry very much doubted that Tom was an angel, but it didn't seem to him as if she were in any position to be criticizing anyone, considering how easily she had allowed a stranger like Dumbledore to get her drunk in the middle of the day. She must have been very desperate for a job to take this one when it was obvious she had no love for children.

He remained silent through Tom's interview with Dumbledore, though he could feel his heart aching for the little boy. He knew what it was like to know that no one in the world cared for you, that it wouldn't make one iota of difference to anyone whether you lived or died. Granted, he had handled it far better than Tom had, but the boy he was watching now, who Dumbledore was watching with narrowed eyes, didn't seem evil. He seemed mistrusting and angry- at the world and at everyone in it, but that was understandable if not commendable, giving his circumstances, Harry thought. He glanced at memory Dumbledore, who seemed to disagree with him. Dumbledore didn't think Tom was angry, he thought Tom was evil. Harry felt an immense frustration on Tom's behalf.

When Dumbledore and Harry were ejected from the memory, Harry sat down, numbly reliving the memory in his mind. It was strange, as self-sufficient and strong as Tom had been for a child of his age, he still looked so vulnerable and small to Harry. Harry thought he was beginning to understand what Dumbledore had meant when he said that often when mistreated, the victim comes to believe that the fault lies in him. Tom clung so hard to any hint at him being better at the people around him, being special, that it looked to Harry as if he needed to know the information for himself. He wasn't yet sure he was special, he still had doubts about being better than those around him, about not deserving the treatment he got. That was why he so greedily took in the information Dumbledore gave him. Here was the thing he had so desperately wanted to believe being told to him by a stranger.

For the first time since Tom had been in his weakened state while reabsorbing the Horcruxes two months ago, Harry felt the foreign need to protect Tom from those around him. Strong and worldly Tom who had faced so much more than Harry ever had. There was something unnerving about seeing this side of Tom, but there was also something about it that made Harry feel very tender and close to him in a way he hadn't known before.

Finally looking up, Harry had realized that Dumbledore had remained silent and allowed him to remain alone with his thoughts. He doubted though that Dumbledore would ever guess what he was thinking.

"That  _was_  an interesting memory, wasn't it, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"I think it is one of the most interesting ones you will see during these lessons, because it gives us a lot of insight beyond Voldemort's actions and demeanor and allows us to actually study his personality, don't you think?"

"Yes," said Harry softly "I definitely feel like I've seen a side to him I hadn't been aware of before."

"You are very astute, Harry." Dumbledore said, beaming. "But though there are many things in the memory that are quite interesting, there are two specific points I want you to pay close attention to. First: You saw how Tom responded to my saying his name. Tom hated being associated with anything he perceived as mundane or common. He had a great need to be special, beyond all others."

Harry nodded, because that corresponded to what he had observed earlier about Tom's reaction to his miserable childhood.

"The second thing I want you to note, Harry, and then I will bid you goodnight, is Tom's penchant for collecting little, ah,  _souvenirs_  I suppose. This magpie-like tendency to collect trophies will be of utmost import later."

By now, Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. He did not like dissecting the inner workings and private emotions of someone so close to his heart with Dumbledore. Especially since this cold assessment of Tom was being conducted with a very specific purpose in mind- to kill Tom.

It was probably because of this, coupled with the defensiveness against Dumbledore that had arisen in Harry while watching the memory that caused him to stay rooted firmly to his seat rather than getting up and bidding him a polite goodnight as he should have done.

"Is that all, Professor?" he asked coldly.

"For this lesson, yes." said Dumbledore gently but firmly.

"Sir," said Harry, as respectfully as he could, given how agitated he felt "may I please ask you what you think you're doing?"

Gasps sounded at Harry's gall from all the portraits on the wall who, up until that very moment, had all been pretending to be asleep.

"That nerve!" one woman in hair curlers cried "Why, if I had spoken that way to my headmaster as a child, I would have been-"

"That will be enough, Ophelia." Dumbledore said firmly, before Harry had a chance to find out if she learned at Hogwarts back when it conducted corporal punishment.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry, please explain. And choose your words carefully. I will not be treated with insolence."

Harry tried to choose his words as carefully as possible. "I'm just trying to understand your motive for acting the way you are. You obviously have more information than you have given me this lesson. You know Umbridge is trying to find reasons to fire you, and yet you continue to dole out the information in little snidgets, weeks apart! What could your motive possibly be to keep me guessing for months on end instead of just telling me everything I need to know and giving me as much time as possible to prepare and come up with a strategy?"

"In my days we didn't question our elders." Sniffed a dour looking man sitting to the far right of the wall "We did not presume to know better than men whose wisdom exceeded our own by decades."

"I think it becomes a bit different when there are lives on the line!" said Harry. This, of course, wasn't true, since Voldemort wasn't a threat any longer, but Harry hoped it would shut the man up.

"Harry is right, Phineus." said Dumbledore quietly "These lessons are being conducted not in the setting of Headmaster and student but rather as two commanders preparing for war. It is Harry's duty to point out the flaws in my tactics he finds if there are lives on the stake. My boy," here he turned to look at Harry "I apologise for the frustration I have caused you. I know you find my method of teaching you baffling and unfair. Perhaps it is. I will consider what you have said and give you a reply tomorrow, either way. Is that acceptable?"

Harry nodded, trying to seem both apologetic and firm.

He left the Headmaster's office and returned to his dormitory in a haze, thoughts whirling restlessly through his head.

* * *

The day was coming to and end, and as he arrived at the top of the staircase to his chambers, panting, Albus Dumbledore was reminded once again that he was getting old.

He let himself fall roughly down on the chair in front of his desk, releasing a sigh. He felt frustrated at his old body, for deteriorating while his mind was still so strong. Only a month ago he wouldn't have felt any draining of his energy after a walk from the Forbidden Forest to his office. The curse in his arm was working fast.

"Tough day, Albus?" asked a beautiful and elderly Headmistress on his wall sympathetically.

"I'm afraid so, Griselda. But a productive one too, definitely." he said. That was an understatement. Today was the day Albus would complete what he inwardly compared to the biggest dominoes game of his life. After his death, one piece would begin to tip, and that was all it would take to lead to the chain reaction that would ultimately result in the destruction of Voldemort. Only one more piece to put into place, and then all would be ready.

The hardest part was behind him, and it had been hard indeed. Albus had known that Severus wouldn't like the fact that the boy he had spent the past decade and a half trying to protect would have to die, but he had thought his hatred for the boy would balance out his love for Lily. This was not so. The man was, incredibly, just as passionately in love with the woman as he had been 30 years ago. He had not taken the news well at all. In the end, though, Severus finally conceded. One boy did not outweigh the millions of muggles whose lives were in danger from Voldemort. No matter how much one loved the boy, as Albus did, or loved his mother, like Severus, there was no excuse for allowing the world to fall into Voldemort's hands just to save Harry.

No, as much as it saddened Albus, Harry couldn't live for much longer. The most Albus could do for the boy at this point was make sure his remaining time on earth wasn't empty or meaningless, but rather turned to the noble cause of defeating Voldemort. He would have liked to give Harry more time to be a carefree child, which was why he had been lingering so long in between each lesson. Harry was right, though. Time was running short. It was time for Harry to know everything, and begin his quest to destroy all of Voldemort's Horcruxes. And when the moment was right, Severus would reveal the last piece of the puzzle and Voldemort's final Horcrux would be destroyed.

It was very sad, but Albus knew that when given the choice, Harry would want to die nobly while saving his friends. It was, after all, destiny.

* * *

"You're late!" said Tom accusingly, as Harry stumbled into the kitchen "And you were the one who insisted we need to meet today in the first place. What in Merlin's name have you been doing?"

Harry was not only late, he was also wearing robes that were rapidly changing colours between neon yellow and green, and he had just emitted a hiccup that caused a few colourful bubbles to fly out his mouth.

"So what have Fred and George done to Umbridge?" asked Sherlock.

"How did you know?" asked Harry incredulously, emitting another colourful hiccup. He stared at Sherlock in admiration that Tom was sure was being mirrored in his own face.

"It's obvious there's just been a huge student party, but there was no Quidditch tournament today. You have toad spawn smeared on your left sleeve. If Umbridge was fired, that would explain a huge spontaneous party and I can imagine some student conjured up toad spawn, feeling it was appropriate."

"I wish she was fired, she was only suspended with an inquiry pending. And how did you know it was Fred and George who did it?"

"Please, I recognize Weasley Twin products when I see them, and these are all brand new merchandise. I bet they thought this would be the perfect opportunity to advertise their new products."

"Did you say you recognize Weasley Twin products when you see them?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Of course!" said Sherlock. "I wanted to check out the investment you made, so I mailed an order in from one of the catalogues they have delivered along with the Daily Prophet. I must say I'm impressed. Definitely a lucrative business with quality products."

"Isn't it?" said Tom admiringly "I love their Decoy Detonators. So much more effective than Zonko's Spontanebust!"

"Oh, yes. Definitely." Sherlock agreed. "So-" turning to Harry "how did they get Umbridge suspended?"

Harry sniggered. "They managed to forge some evidence of Umbridge fornicating with a couple of centaurs, and sent it in to some rival of hers at the Ministry. Once they have an official inquiry, I'm pretty sure it'll be discovered to be a fake, but meanwhile, it's quite a welcome break from her."

"What we did to her was better." said Tom, because it definitely had been. Also, he didn't want anyone to start thinking they had been one-upped just because  _they_ hadn't gotten Umbridge suspended.

"I never said it wasn't." said Harry smiling "But that isn't actually why I wanted to meet you both here tonight. I actually found out some information that I thought you might find interesting. It's about Dumbledore's plans to kill Tom."

This, understandably, got Tom's attention. "What do you know?"

"Well, I don't actually know how much of it is important anymore." said Harry thoughtfully ", considering most of them no longer exist, but he knows about the Horcruxes. His main plan focused on finding out what they are and then obtaining and destroying them, and now that the Diadem's not in Hogwarts anymore I don't know how he's ever going to get the last Horcrux, even if he  _does_  know what it is. Still, I thought it was something you should be informed of as soon as possible."

"He even knows what the Horcruxes are?" asked Tom, feeling faint. What would have become of his Diadem had he not heeded Sherlock's advice? Had he really been insane enough to leave his Horcrux in a place as vulnerable as Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose?

"Not exactly, but he has all the clues, it wouldn't be hard for him to figure out." Harry replied. "It's funny, the more he discusses you with me, the more convinced I become that he doesn't know you and never has. And yet, he predicted with such skill what you would act like. He's guessed that you wanted to split your soul in seven, since it was a powerful number, he knew that you made your diary, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup into Horcruxes as well as the Peverell ring, he'd guessed that Nagini was a Horcrux, and he even revealed his suspicion that the last Horcrux was an artifact that had belonged to either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It felt like he knew exactly who it was he was dealing with."

"Dumbledore is all too familiar with my worst qualities." replied Tom in a bored voice "Not surprising, since he brought them out in me. The whole process of choosing and creating Horcruxes originated from my worst qualities. The amount of ego apparent from my choice of Horcruxes is frankly embarrassing, but I do not find it surprising that Dumbledore managed to guess what they would be."

"It's not that bad!" said Harry in an awkward attempt at being comforting "You chose objects with meaning!"

"It is that bad!" retorted Sherlock in a typical display of brutal honesty "How stupid do you have to be to choose famous objects with great historical value? Had you hidden your soul in an old toenail clipping, you'd never in a million years need to worry about it being found and destroyed!"

Tom disliked thinking about his actions in the past, and proceeded to change the subject. "Can you go into a bit more detail, Harry? How exactly did Dumbledore know? What proof does he have? What memories has he showed you?"

Harry shrugged. "He hasn't much proof to go by, it was almost all conjecture, but Merlin, he must be the master of conjecture! It was all spot on.

"First, he showed a memory that belonged to your old Professor- Snailhorn, or something. You were flattering him and buttering him up, and then you asked him about Horcruxes. The memory went all foggy at this point, and he shouted that he didn't know anything about Horcruxes and you shouldn't ask about them ever again. After we left the memory, Dumbledore explained that the foggy part meant the man had tampered with the memory. He told me what Horcruxes were, and his suspicion that your Professor had told you and then had changed the memory out of shame, once you became what you became."

"A reasonable conclusion." said Sherlock levelheadedly "Go on."

"Next he talked about your diary. He said that it was worrying that instead of keeping it safe, your plan was to plant it on someone who would be possessed by it. He found it strange that you would risk something as precious as a Horcrux falling into the hands of an enemy, or someone who might try to destroy it. It indicated that you had more than one Horcrux. Seven was the logical number because it's the most powerful magical number. It was only a guess of course, but he got it right."

Tom shook his head. "Not seven Horcruxes, seven pieces of soul- the one in my body, and six Horcruxes."

Harry waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "The point is, he knows the diary wasn't the only one. Which is unfortunate, because if he didn't he wouldn't bother trying to find or destroy the other Horcruxes. The next memory he showed me was of the house-elf of a woman named Hepzibah Smith."

Tom grimaced. That was the first memory that Dumbledore had showed Harry of Tom that had been truly nasty. Tom didn't want Harry to have seen that. He reminded himself that Harry had already been tortured by him less than a year before, and this wouldn't be what would make him abandon Tom, but he still couldn't help the sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of his past.

Harry, tactfully, said nothing about how Tom had come by the Horcruxes, but rather focused on the artifacts themselves instead.

"...And once Dumbledore guessed that you used those vessels to make Horcruxes, he's sensed your pattern of using meaningful artifacts, which is why he thinks another one is something that belonged to one of the remaining founders- either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"And Nagini?" asked Tom "How did he figure out that she was the last one?"

"He found it curious how much you always kept her close. He also said you have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."

"Does he?" asked Sherlock curiously "I wonder that he'd notice something like that. It's quite subtle. Most snakes have been quite happy to oblige any little requests of mine, the only truly noticeable difference between your connection with Nagini to your connection with any other serpent is how she sticks around you incessantly. Most snakes are too independent to become pets."

"Wait, does this mean that now that she's no longer a Horcrux Nagini might just leave?" asked Harry.

"No fear of that." Tom shook his head sadly "All she does anymore is lay at the foot of my bed, hardly moving. She won't even hunt anymore, I need to catch mice for her. It's not normal behavior."

"She's hibernating." said Harry soothingly.

Tom shook his head. "She's a magical snake, they don't hibernate. If there's not enough food or warmth they just enter a magical sleep until circumstances change. And Nagini has plenty of food and warmth, that's not the problem. I think she might be sick."

"How old is she?" asked Sherlock.

"Snakes aren't very good counters," said Tom noncommittally "but as far as I've been able to discern from my memories while possessing her body, I'd say she's been through about 25 mating cycles."

"Add a few years of life before she reached sexual maturity, and Nagini is living quite a few years past her life expectancy." said Sherlock bleakly.

"But she's never shown any signs of weakness before- oh, of course." Tom sighed, realizing what was happening. "Horcruxes are, by design, durable against almost anything. Removing my Horcrux from her also removed her protection from the frailties of old age. I guess that means she'll die soon?"

"I'm so sorry, Tom." said Harry "I don't know what I'd do if I lost Hedwig."

"It's alright." Tom answered as nonchalantly as he could "She lived a long life. It was bound to happen eventually." But it wasn't alright. Tom hated death, hated it with every fiber of his being.

Suddenly, the thought of having only one Horcrux made him feel naked and vulnerable.


	19. Chapter 18

"Slow down, Tom!" said Sherlock, pulling on the back of Tom's robes and dragging him to a stop. "Where are you going? Why aren't we getting Harry?"

"Calling him now would attract too much attention." Tom said shortly, and continued to storm forwards down the bustling halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Oh, calling him would attract attention, would it? Well how about storming into the girls loo? How much attention do you suppose that would attract?!"

Tom looked down the Hogwarts second story hallway. There were a group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs walking down the hallway chatting noisily and a couple was sitting on a bench a few feet down from them, their heads close together.

"Sorry." said Tom quietly, "I wasn't thinking straight. We'll wait for the hallway to clear."

"Why couldn't we have just come to hide the diadem at night, when no one could see us?" complained Sherlock.

Tom considered it. Then he shrugged, slightly sheepish. "I honestly wasn't thinking clearly enough to take that into account. In any case, we're already here now, so let's get it over with. I won't feel comfortable as long as this Horcrux is still accessible to someone other than the three of us."

Sherlock chose not to tell Tom of all the ways he had thought of in which a person who was not a Parselmouth could enter the Chamber of Secrets. Instead, he tried talking some sense into Tom. "I don't understand why hiding the diadem has suddenly become so urgent when you've had it sitting on the kitchen counter in your house for the past two months! What changed?"

Tom, though, noticing that the hallway was finally empty, declined to answer in favor of entering the girl's bathroom and waving frantically for Sherlock to follow him.

Sherlock sighed, but complied, resolving inwardly to do all he could to cure Tom's irrational phobia of death.

He watched with trepidation as Tom silently tread past a closed bathroom door through which sobbing could be heard and came to stand in front of one of the sinks. "Open." he whispered, and tensed at the creaking noise the sink made as it sank into the floor. The sobbing in the nearby stall stuttered for a second, but then picked up again, louder than before.

Releasing a soft sigh, Tom slid into the murky tunnel that had opened up in the place of the sink. Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and followed him in. Landing in a sprawl on the floor, Sherlock hurried to his feet.

"Close." Tom whispered at the tunnel entrance, and it melted into the wall, leaving nothing but moss in its place.

They walked for a while, until they reached a pile of rubble blocking their way. Sherlock had already heard Harry's story of what had happened last time someone had been down in the Chamber of Secrets and had been expecting it. This was the rubble that had been caused by Lockhart's spell hitting the ceiling and bringing it down when he tried to Obliviate Harry and Ron Weasley.

"There's got to be an opening around here somewhere." said Tom, scanning the huge barrier before them, "Harry got through it back then, when he destroyed the diary. He was a skinny twelve-year-old then, of course, so we might need to expand the hole a bit to let us through."

"To what end?" asked Sherlock, emphasizing the boredom in his voice.

"To hide the diadem-"

"No, no, no, no, no!" said Sherlock, cutting him off impatiently "Why are you being predictable? When people see a tunnel, there first instinct is to start walking down it. You'd be leading people right to the location of your Horcrux. Hide it here, a few meters under the floor. No one would ever think to look there."

"But wouldn't it be safer beyond a few more barriers?" asked Tom, not as easily willing to admit he was wrong as Harry would have been.

"Anyone determined enough to manage entering the Chamber without knowing Parseltongue is hardly going to be deterred by some rubble." said Sherlock with finality.

Tom sighed and conceded, raising his wand to displace a huge pile of dirt from the floor, and gently placing the diadem in. Another wave of a wand, and there was no sign of disturbance that remained. No one would think to look there.

"Tom." said Sherlock, frowning, as they walked back towards the entrance to the Chamber "I need to ask: What suddenly made you do this after all this time? Suddenly protecting the Horcrux became so urgent it couldn't wait another second, after you had done nothing with it for weeks? And especially now that you know that Regulus did not manage to destroy the locket! You should be more assured of the protection spells on the diadem than ever! Being illogically panicked is unlike you."

Tom sighed. "I always thought the greatest protection of my Horcruxes wasn't the protective enchantments but rather the fact that no one knew about them, so no one would ever try to break the enchantments and destroy them. It unnerved me to find out last night just how much Dumbledore knew about them. I was up all night last night trying to think of the most safe place to hide the diadem that I could think of. I called you the second I decided on the Chamber of Secrets."

"Your fear of death makes you act in a stupid and irrational manner." said Sherlock disapprovingly.

"Probably, yes."

"We need to cure it." decided Sherlock.

Tom snorted. "How are you planning to do that?"

Sherlock examined Tom. "A fear of death is more rational in a muggle, who had no assurance that there is anything beyond this physical realm. If you believe that death is the end, a fear like yours makes sense. You, more than anyone, though, have proof that a soul exists. That it continues on to somewhere. We may not know if any of the religions are correct or if there is a god, but we have proof that we are something bigger than just matter- bones, blood, and hormones. Physical death is not the end of us. What is it about death that scares you so much?"

"I don't know anything about what comes after physical death." retorted Tom. "This life is the only thing I know, it may be the only chance I have to shape myself and the world the way I want. To develop, become something bigger, to live. I don't want this to be over yet, I still have so much I want to experience and do."

"Well," said Sherlock logically, "you Horcruxes only caused you misery and to throw your life away and destroy it. This fear of yours is keeping you from acting in the optimal way and accomplishing your purpose of living life and enjoying it. Therefore, if that truly is your reason for fearing death, the most rational step would be to stop fearing death."

"Whoever said phobias were rational?" grumbled Tom, but there was a slight tilt to his lips that suggested amusement.

Sherlock knew, of course, that there was an additional reason for Tom's reluctance to die, and that it involved delusions of grandeur and an obsession with being superior. Tom seemed to be resolving that issue quite well on his own, though, if the remorse he felt for creating the Horcruxes was any indication, so he remained silent over that matter.

It seemed to him that there was hope for Tom, and that one day all his issues would be resolved.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the dark halls of Hogwarts and out into the summer sun feeling euphoric. No more OWLs to stress about ever again, and only one week before he returned to the Dursleys. (Meaning, since he had no intention of actually visiting the Dursleys, that he had a whole to months to spend, uninterrupted, with Sherlock and Tom.)

Accompanied by Ron and Hermione, he settled down under a tree to watch the spectacular fireworks display in the sky- Fred and George's way of celebrating the end of their NEWTs and Hogwart's schooling.

"What do you think?" George was standing above them, smugly watching the skies as one of the fireworks formed the words "Goodbye Hogwarts!" along with the image of a rude hand gesture.

They all enthusiastically congratulated him on the excellent display, though Hermione couldn't help but admonish him for some or the cruder images the fireworks had taken on.

"Ah, but my dear Hermione," said a voice behind them, and they all turned to see that Fred had snuck up behind them "how is Filch to know just how much contempt we feel for him unless we have a firework depicting him fornicating with his cat?"

Hermione made a disgusted face at him, which he cheerfully ignored as he sat down beside her.

"You look unusually smug." observed Harry "And I don't think it's because the NEWTs went very well."

"Yes, well I did manage to chuck a portkey at Umbridge just now, on the way out of my Defense NEWT, that's enough to put anyone in a good mood. Don't worry-" he hastened to add at Hermione's stern look "she didn't see it was me, I won't get in any trouble."

"Where'd you portkey her to?" asked Ron.

"Eh, just the largest Acromantula colony in Britain. Oi! Don't look at me like that! It's not like anything will happen to her, she'll just get a little scare before quickly Apparating away."

Harry and Ron laughed and even Hermione's lips twitched. The only person who seemed unamused was, surprisingly, George, who had gone quite pale.

"George?" said Harry nervously, prodding him, "You alright, mate?"

"It's just-" said George, "You need a wand in order to Apparate, don't you?"

Hermione nodded immediately.

"Well, to celebrate the end of our Hogwarts schooling I thought it would be fun to see how the teacher who relied on theory alone with past year would actually deal without a wand. I replaced it with one of our fake wands about half an hour ago."

A shocked silence descended over the group. Finally, Hermione broke it. "Well, I'm willing to pretend I didn't just hear that if everyone else is."

Fred gaped at her. "Hermione?"

"As far as I'm concerned, a woman who gets off on torturing her students should be prepared for any little surprise they have planned for her. If she can't handle this situation, then she's not fit to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." she replied, sniffing slightly.

Fred looked at her admiringly, and Harry made a mental note of just how dangerous it was to anger Hermione.

* * *

"Welcome home!" said Tom, smiling happily as Harry appeared in the living room, holding his luggage, "Finally! No more Hogwarts, and two months to ourselves to spend however we like!" He smirked at Harry suggestively.

To Tom's disappointment, neither of his companions seemed as enthusiastic about the prospect as he was. Sherlock, who had been lying on the couch tracing symbols in the air with his finger merely grunted. But then, Tom hadn't expected much more from him, the latest case he had gotten from Scrimgeour was quite a challenging one, and though he had been in that same spot physically all day, he hadn't been present in the room for hours.

Harry had smiled wanly and then flopped down on the couch Sherlock wasn't occupying with a sigh.

Tom had expected a bit more excitement from Harry. Especially considering this was the beginning of his very first true summer vacation- one that would all be dedicated to his rest and enjoyment with no Dursleys to spoil everything.

"Is everything alright, Harry?"

Harry shrugged passively. "Nothing's wrong."

It was quite unconvincing. Harry's despondence seemed to have caught Sherlock's attention too, because he came out of his revery for the first time in hours, and came to stand in front of Harry, surveying him severely.

"Nothing's wrong with you physically." He declared, after a few seconds of careful scrutiny, "So you saw or heard something that brought your mood down?"

"It's Dumbledore." said Harry, "There's something wrong with him, ever Ron and Hermione noticed. He's pale, and during the feast tonight he looks like he was in pain. He had to sit down in the middle of his end-of-year speech, just as he was telling everyone about Umbridge's disappearance. We all joked about it, saying the thought that Umbridge might return one day was what made him sick, but I'm sure that there was something seriously wrong. I think that deep down everyone knew that it was something bad."

"I don't know why you even care." Tom grumbled, "You're talking about a man that wants to kill me."

Harry sighed. "My feelings for Dumbledore are…conflicting. And complicated to say the least. But I don't want anything bad to happen to him."

"Forget about Dumbledore, Harry." Sherlock murmured soothingly, tilting Harry's chin up and kissing him.

"Yes," sighed Tom, pulling Harry's shirt up and beginning to kiss down his stomach, "let us help you think about something else."

Harry's chuckle was cut off by a moan, and there was no more talk about Dumbledore for the rest of the night.

* * *

Severus grimaced as he tossed the floo powder in his hands into the fireplace and called out Albus's address. He was not looking forward to the visit.

He had always felt ambivalent towards the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The man was wise, and funny, and made good company, but he always gave Severus the unnerving feeling as if he were one step ahead of him. Every time Albus gave him an order, Severus felt like a sheep being led blindly behind an all-knowing master. The loss of control and feeling of ignorance was disconcerting, and sometimes overshadowed his enjoyment of Albus's company.

Lately, though, the visits had become torture. The curse that Severus's magic had managed to keep contained to Albus's hand for so long, had slowly begun to spread. Ever since the beginning of the summer vacation at Hogwarts, Severus made daily visits to the Headmaster's house. And every time he arrived, Albus's condition was worse than the day before. Two days ago he had begun to need Severus's help in using the toilet.

Severus owed the man his life and considering he was the only one who knew of Albus's little secret he could hardly begrudge his comrade the help he needed from the only person of which he could ask it. Still, it was painful, for both Severus and Albus to witness the slow torture of his once spry and energetic body being reduced to such a weak vessel that would soon be unable to hold itself together.

Severus couldn't help but hope sometimes that it would just be over with already.

When Severus arrived, Albus was laying in his bed, rather than in the floating chair Severus had enchanted for him (his magic had begun sputtering out some two weeks earlier).

His face was paler than Severus had ever seen it before and his breaths were shaky. It was apparent to Severus that this was the end, and Albus obviously knew it to, if the resigned smile he gave upon seeing the despairing look of Severus's face was any indication. His phoenix sat beside his bed, cooing a mournful melody. Despite all this, there was still a wisdom and a sharpness in his eyes that indicated that Albus's mind remained untouched by the curse.

"Ah, Severus." The smile was weak but genuine, "My body is fading fast, it has been quite an effort remaining here until you came. I wanted to see you one last time before I departed. After I go- you know what must be done?"

Severus nodded curtly.

"Excellent. Now, listen to me carefully. I want these to be my last words to you, and the note on which we part: You are a great and courageous man, and it has been an honor fighting alongside you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Albus." He replied, taking hold of the older man's wrinkled and emaciated hand.

Albus closed his eyes, and smiled.

A few feet away, swaying on his perch, Fawkes the phoenix croaked mournfully. There were no sweet melodies in him now.

Severus took one minute to lower his head in quiet respect, and then sprung into action.

Hurrying towards the bathroom, he opened the cabinet and removed the anti-hiccup potion Albus had purchased earlier that summer when he still had the power to leave the house on his own. He uncorked the potion and, measuring out a considerable dose, vanished it, making the bottle look half empty. He ended by placing the bottle on the sink, taking care that the tag, with the warning that the potion's side effects included dizziness, faced outwards.

Next was the most distasteful part. Severus returned to Albus's bedside and levitated the body. Leading it after him like a limp marionette, Severus brought it to stand at the top of the staircase. For a split second, his lips twisted in a grimace. Then, with a prod of his wand, he send the body sailing down the stairs, trying to contain his flinch at the sound of cracking bones. When it was over, Albus lay at the bottom of his staircase like a limp doll, limbs twisted unnaturally.

It was essential that Albus's death would not be tied in any way to a disease which slowly ate away at the body lest the Dark Lord connect the dots and realize that Albus stole his treasured ring. Severus's actions insured that Albus's death would be attributed to a stumble down the stairs while drugged by a potion that caused dizziness. As unpleasant as Severus's actions had been, his friend had wanted to be found broken at the bottom of the stairs.

Severus hurried away from the sight and back to Albus's room.

"Fawkes!" He called tersely.

The phoenix flapped down from his perch and hovered in front of Severus.

"It's time." He informed the bird, tying to his leg a pre-written letter that had been lying on Albus's bedside table. The letter contained an invitation to Minerva McGonagall to come over for tea. Albus's body would not remain undiscovered for long, and the indignity of its current position would be short-lived.

Fawkes let out a soothing tune, that hardly calmed Severus's nerves at all, and then took off through the open window.

The most nerve-wracking part was still before him. True, Severus came bearing good news, but no matter the circumstances, Severus could never feel calm visiting the Dark Lord. Even if he could be fairly sure that he wouldn't get caught as a spy this time. After all, this whole exercise was meant to cement the Dark Lord's trust in him.

Steeling his nerves, Severus Apparated back to his own dilapidated hut of a house and pressed his right finger to his Dark Mark. A few agonizing minutes of suspense passed, before a sharp pain coursed through Severus's own mark. The Dark Lord had acknowledged his message and was summoning him to a certain location.

Severus braced himself and Disapparated. The Mark acted as a guide, and when the squeezing sensation from the Apparition abated, Severus found himself in a garden. Most of the area around him was grassy, with the exception of a large hole that had been dug into the ground.

The tall, imposing figure of the Dark Lord stood over the hole, hands behind his back, shoulders slightly hunched. It was such a human posture, that Severus was slightly shocked when the figure turned around to reveal the pale, monstrous features of the Dark Lord.

Severus quickly hurried up towards his master, silently noting the two sets of footprints on the grass leading away from the pit. He wasn't foolish enough to ask who those people were that the Dark Lord sent away before allowing Severus to come.

"Why have you requested a meeting, Severus?" The Dark Lord's voice was quiet. "I hope for your sake that it justifies the interruption. I am not in a good mood today."

"My apologies, My Lord." Severus murmured, "I would never dream of taking your time if it wasn't necessary, but I believe my news merits it. I am sorry it came at an inopportune time. I did not wish to interrupt your-" he trailed off, hoping the Dark Lord would answer his unasked question.

"You interrupted the burial ceremony of Nagini. We shall see if your news does indeed warrant such an inconvenience. " The Dark Lord's voice was colder now, perhaps the closest he could get to an expression of grief.

But that meant- Severus couldn't believe it. Albus had told him that one day Voldemort would start fearing for the life of Nagini. That would be the day Severus was to tell Harry Potter that he needed to die. But what was Severus to do if the snake was already dead?

Of all the inconvenient times! Why did the snake have to die just as Albus was no longer there to explain?

Severus resolved to think about it later. Right now he had a Dark Lord to deceive.

"My Lord, Albus Dumbledore summoned me to his house today for tea along with Minerva McGonagall. He asked me to come a little early to discuss war strategies with me. He was concerned about the fact that you have not yet acted, as it made it impossible for him to predict your strategy and counter it." The secret to Severus's deception was revealing information that, while true, was not key.

"He headed downstairs to make us some tea, and left his wand in the study. He always said he preferred tea that was brewed by hand, with attention. He was away from his wand, and no one knew that I was with him. I saw the opportunity and took it. I shot the Killing Curse at his back. He fell, and by the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs, his neck had broken. No one will suspect that he didn't simply trip." Severus spoke the rehearsed words robotically, not thinking about their meaning. This was, of course, the key to deceiving a master Legillimens such as the Dark Lord, who could always sense a lie. Not think about the fact that it was a lie, not think at all of the meaning of the words. Easy enough in theory, quite a bit harder in practice.

But Severus was a master at what he did, and the Dark Lord immediately accepted his words as truthful. "You are sure he is dead?"

Severus nodded. "I confirmed it."

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. "This is good news, Severus." He looked more pensive than he did pleased, but Severus wasn't expecting whoops of joy anyways. "You have proven your loyalty to me over Dumbledore beyond a doubt." he continued, "You will be rewarded accordingly." The Dark Lord's voice was level, sounding almost bored.

This was the outcome Severus and Albus had hoped for, but it felt anticlimactic. The Dark Lord's reaction was not what Severus had expected. Perhaps he suspected something? But he didn't seem angry, or malicious. In fact, he had just shaken his head, as if ridding himself of a bothersome thought.

"My Lord?" Severus asked carefully.

"I was just thinking about Potter. How he will react once he finds out that his Headmaster is dead. It was an amusing thought." He didn't sound amused, but Severus had no desire to call him out on it. Instead, he bowed respectfully, and, seeing the Dark Lord turn away from him and back to face the open grave of his snake, he backed away and Apparated home.

He arrived breathless, mind reeling from all the developments of the past hour. Albus was dead, Nagini, who was supposed to be Severus's sign to reveal the necessary information to Harry Potter, was dead too, and within half an hour Albus's body would be discovered and he would have to sit and feign shock throughout the inevitable ensuing Order meeting. Severus was exhausted, and he probably only had a few minutes before he needed to put on another show. He needed to decide what to do about Potter and about the information he had.

Albus had obviously not planned for Nagini to die so prematurely, or he would have planned for that eventuality. That meant that it was probably too early to tell Potter about the piece of the Dark Lord's soul inside of him. But when else could Severus tell Potter? How would he know when the time WAS right? What if he missed he right time? That could have drastic consequences...

There was nothing for it, Severus finally decided. He had to tell Potter at the first possible opportunity, and hope that the boy would have the strength to do what needed to be done despite knowing that the end result would be his own death. If there was one good quality the boy had, it was bravery, and love for his friends. Those would serve him well in completing his mission.

Finally whole with his decision, Severus concluded that he had come to it just in time, as the fire in his fireplace flared green.

"Severus!" Arthur Weasley's face was thin and harassed, and there was a little dampness on his cheeks, " Minerva just came to visit Albus- I can't tell you over the floo, just come to Grimmauld place! Now!"

Severus nodded stonily and grabbed his cloak.


	20. Chapter 19

Harry frowned in disgust at the words the solemn wizard in black robes was uttering over Dumbledore's grave. "Nobility of spirit... Intellectual contribution..." The man obviously knew Dumbledore only by reputation.

Who wrote this politically correct, completely lacking in heart eulogy? Surely Dumbledore deserved to have a personal and heartfelt goodbye. He deserved to have someone speak of his mischievousness, of the fact that no matter how brilliant he was, or how many titles he possessed, he always treated everyone as equals. The tufty-haired man should be speaking of that, no of his "Open-minded attitude". Harry glared at the wizard, hoping to wandlessly set fire to his hat.

A hand tapped him. It was Luna, accompanied by Neville and Ginny. "We're getting out of here," Ginny told him "to give Dumbledore his own sendoff, a proper one. Want to come?"

Harry happily got up, and Hermione and Ron followed him. He could only imagine what Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill would have to say about this sudden departure from the funeral, "In a desperate bid for attention, disturbed Potter hooligan demonstratively leaves funeral in the middle of beloved Headmaster's eulogy." but it didn't matter. He had come here to mourn Dumbledore, and he wanted to do it properly, there was a lot of history between the two of them.

It was especially hard, having to listen to the dark robed wizard speak of a 'long and full life' and being the only one to know that the life could have been much longer and fuller. He was probably the only person there who knew that Dumbledore hadn't simply tripped, he had been murdered. Snape wasn't there, as far as he could tell, and Harry was glad of it. If he did see Snape, Harry didn't know if he would be able to stop himself from attacking him right then and there. He was glad to quickly follow his friends off the lawn and into Hogwarts.

Despite the fact that the summer holidays had yet to end, the doors to Hogwarts were wide open. They made their way quietly to the Room of Requirement undisturbed, meeting no one.

The room opened for them, brightly lit and comfortably furnished with couches colored in a red and gold that reminded Harry of Fawkes's plumage. On the wall hung a black-and-white picture of Dumbledore laughing.

Two bottles of Firewhiskey later, and they were all sprawled on the couches swapping their favourite Dumbledore stories.

"An educated and accomplished speaker!" Harry scoffed, swirling a shot of Firewhiskey in his hand "That's what they called him in the eulogy! Well let me tell you something: I remember his start-of-year speech to us in my very first year at Hogwarts. You know what his idea of 'a few words' was? I quote: 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'".

Everyone chuckled.

"That was his idea of a speech" continued Harry "not that pompous swill."

Ron was still chuckling to himself at the memory of Dumbledore's speech, and it occurred to Harry that Ron may have had a little too much Firewhiskey. That was a sign that he too should probably stop. He excused himself, and left the Room of Requirement.

He walked quickly through the halls, heading towards the exit, intent now on getting back home to Sherlock and Tom. Though they had offered, Harry had not wanted them to accompany him to the funeral. In light of their own feelings towards the man, Harry did not feel that he would feel free to mourn him properly in their presence. Now, however, he missed them, and was eager to see them again.

He hurried through his familiar school, meeting no one, and then headed out of the school and across the lawn towards the gates.

He paused as he passed near the lake. A white marble gravestone that hadn't been there before was glimmering in the now setting sun. The crowds had already dispersed, and Harry took a moment to go up and stand over the grave, lowering his head silently in respect.

Over the past year he had become disillusioned with the old Headmaster. It had happened in part thanks to Tom and Sherlock, both of whom disliked Dumbledore, and in part thanks to his own observations.

Though Sherlock and Tom had fun making up crazy conspiracy theories such as Dumbledore stealing from his Gringotts vault until Harry got the key at age 11, or even that he paid the Dursleys to abuse Harry, Harry knew there was far more to the man's actions than just manipulations for his own benefit, and he thought that Sherlock and Tom knew that as well.

He was a brilliant man who had taken a heavy weight upon his shoulders- the weight of fighting evil. Harry had often gotten the short end of the stick due to this fight, but while he couldn't help resenting that, he did believe Dumbledore's intentions were pure.

The one thing Harry resented above all others, the thing that was hardest for him to forgive, was how Dumbledore had allowed Harry to be treated at the Dursleys. He may have placed Harry there out of a true desire for him to be protected by his mother's sacrifice, but Harry did not think he had to be treated the way he had been.

There was no way that during the last five years Dumbledore had no idea how miserable Harry was at the Dursleys. Harry was pretty sure that he knew very well. He understood Dumbledore's reasons for not taking him out of that house, but why couldn't he have threatened the Dursleys? Harry was sure that if they knew that any miserable treatment of Harry would bring about retribution from a fully qualified wizard with permission to use magic, his time at the Dursleys would have been far better. Still, Dumbledore had never intervened on Harry's behalf in that front.

Harry had a feeling that he knew the reason for his Headmaster's actions, or lack of them. Dumbledore had been a long time fighter for muggle rights. He firmly opposed actions such as muggle-baiting or even muggle-hunting and all such activities that had been considered fun pastimes in various Pureblood families. He wouldn't go against his ideals by threatening muggles with magic, even if it was justified, even if the results would have been saving an innocent boy some misery. Dumbledore was so firmly rooted in his high-minded ideals, that he wasn't willing to do the right thing if it involved some dirty work rather than noble actions.

The man had always wanted to do right, though, and Harry couldn't deny that he had been brilliant, fun and charming. And besides, Harry's terrible time at the Dursleys was the reason he met Sherlock, so in light of Dumbledore's death, he decided that the time had come to forgive him.

Gently touching the white stone with his hand, Harry felt at peace.

And then someone grabbed his arm.

"There you are, Potter! Thank Merlin I found you! Where the hell did you vanish during the funeral? Was it too hard for you to attend an event that wasn't focused solely on you?"

Harry turned around. "Snape!"

"That's Professor Snape, you insolent-" but he was cut off mid sentence by a flash or purple light Harry had sent at him. He barely jumped out of the way in time, and there was a hole scorched in the grass where he had been standing a second before.

"How dare you?" Harry hissed, advancing on Snape, relishing his shocked and angered expression "How dare you come to his funeral? How dare you go near his grave?"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Potter?"

Of course, Snape had no way of knowing that Harry was aware that he was the one who murdered Dumbledore. Harry ignored the question in favor of shooting another curse at Snape. Snape, was ready this time, though, and deflected Harry's spell with almost lazy ease before firing a red beam of light at Harry. He was so quick that Harry barely had time to dodge.

Snape was obviously quicker than him at firing spells, so Harry tried a different approach. His next spell was pointed at the space above Snape's head. A huge boulder appeared where Harry's wand had been pointed and began falling. Snape only had a split second before he was crushed, and Harry doubted he'd manage to stop the boulder in time. He sent one more spell Snape's way to finish the job. To his shock, Snape managed to stop the boulder's descent a hairsbreadth from his head, and deflect Harry's second spell, though barely.

Harry paused in shock. How fast was this man?

His second's hesitation had been his undoing, because that was all it had taken for Snape to dissolve the boulder into dust and go on the offensive. "Trying to kill me, Potter?" He growled, shooting spells at Harry at an alarming speed "Gone dark now, have we?"

"Don't pretend innocence." Harry was breathing loudly, from the effort of dueling a wizard far superior to him "I know that you were the one to kill Dumbledore. You hit him when his back was turned, like a coward."

Just as he said that his shield gave out and Harry was hit with a petrification spell and fell to the ground, legs snapping together. He saw Snape's face, frozen by shock, before his head hit the ground.

After the black circles cleared from his eyes, Harry looked up and saw Snape's grim features looming over him. Harry suddenly realized just how grim his situation was. He could only hope that Snape would decide to bring him to Voldemort rather than take matters into his own hands like he had with Dumbledore.

To Harry's surprise, Snape did neither. He picked up Harry's wand, conjured ropes to tie Harry up, and then lifted the body-binding hex.

"I need you able to talk, Potter." He muttered in explanation, scrutinizing Harry. "Now, how did you know what I told the Dark Lord about Albus Dumbledore's death?"

"None of your business."

Snape sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair in a tired gesture. "Generally, Potter, I would not give a damn what you think of me, since there is not a single person in the Ministry who would believe me over you. Now, however, I find myself in the unfortunate position of needing your trust in order to give you some very important information. I hope this will suffice in convincing you of my loyalties."

He lifted his hand and incanted: "Accio Veritaserum!"

A minute later, a small vial zoomed across the lawn towards them, and Snape caught if deftly.

He uncorked the vial, and mockingly raised his hand in a toasting motion.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "How do I know it's not just water?"

Snape rolled his eyes in response. "If it was water, it wouldn't have come when I said 'Accio VERITASERUM'. Now, I am going to take 2 drops. I dearly hope you know what that means."

Harry may not have liked Potions, but he'd just had an OWL in the subject and he wasn't a complete idiot. "2 drops allows you to keep whatever information you want to yourself. You won't be forced to answer any question, but if you choose to answer it you won't be able to lie."

Snape nodded curtly and measured out two drops into his mouth.

"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?" Harry asked directly, getting straight to the point.

"No." Snape rolled his eyes at the confusion on Harry's face as he attempted to piece the puzzle together.

"He really did fall down the stairs? You lied to Voldemort to gain his trust?"

Snape snorted. "As if Albus Dumbledore could die from a fall. No, he was killed by a curse. The curse was triggered when he stole an object precious to the Dark Lord, and he did not want the Dark Lord to make the connection between the object and the curse and realize his possession had gone missing. We planned out the details together to make the death look like an accident. You are right, though, in assuming I lied to the Dark Lord to gain his trust."

Harry nodded his understanding. He didn't ask Snape what the object had been both because he didn't think Snape would answer, and because he was fairly sure that he knew what it was- the ring.

Instead he simply told Snape "You can untie me now, I won't try to kill you."

"Not that you could succeed in such an endeavor." Snape sneered as the ropes around Harry began to slither apart.

"Now," Snape said once Harry stood up "it is imperative that you tell me how you knew of my conversation with the Dark Lord."

"Sometimes I have visions of Voldemort, where I can see into his head." Harry answered, truthfully. Snape was one of those people who could always tell when you were lying, so Harry tried not to say anything that was an actual lie. "I'll be sleeping, and suddenly see what's happening where he is. Usually I see it through his eyes."

"I assume you have no control over this?" Snape inquired.

He smirked in triumphant contempt when Harry confirmed his assumption by shaking his head. "I should have known. Now, judging from the fact that Minerva treated me perfectly cordially during the funeral, you have told no one from the Order of your visions before. That can only be attributed to pure stupidity. From now on, you will report to Minerva McGonagall every time you have a similar vision. The Order of the Phoenix can make far better use of that information than you can. Understood?"

Harry nodded obediently, but inside he smirked with smug vindication. The fact that Harry had not reported to the Order that Snape was a spy was a huge tip-off that he was on Voldemort's side, and if Snape hadn't been so quick to believe any indication that Harry was stupid he would have realized that. His blind hatred of Harry had finally backfired, and Harry felt victorious.

"Now," Snape continued at Harry's show of humility "I have something of urgent importance to tell you. This place isn't safe enough, we must meet in your aunt and uncle's house. It is the only place guaranteed to be safe from the Dark Lord. We must go there now."

"I don't live there anymore." Harry told Snape. "In fact, I promised myself that I would never go back there in my life."

Snape raised his eyebrows, but he didn't sneer like Harry expected him to.

"Dumbledore always told me that the protection would only hold as long as I consider that place my home." Harry continued "So the protection's no good anymore. I think you'll just have to give me this information somewhere else."

Snape considered that for a moment. "I will go to your relative's house and scope out the enchantments for myself. I will see if the protection is indeed gone. If it is, we will need to meet here. It is the next safest place after your relative's house. I will need your relatives' address."

"Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." Harry answered. "And make sure to come dressed in wizard clothes and wave your wand around a lot."

Snape frowned at him. "This is a serious matter, Potter. I will not have my mission jeopardized by hysterical screams of 'Freak' that would attract the attention of muggle neighbors. I will send you an owl within the next few days."

"How did you kn-" Harry began, mystified, but Snape had already turned away from him and began walking. Harry shrugged. It must have been a coincidence that Snape had used Aunt Petunia's favorite catchphrase.

He turned back to Dumbledore's grave. "This is all such a waste of time." Harry told it, rolling his eyes. But secrets were secrets, and Snape believed that he had an interest in fighting Voldemort. So Harry would have to meet with Snape, and pretend to be interested in what he had to say. He groaned at the prospect, before beginning to walk towards the Hogwarts gates, heading home to his real family.

* * *

"Harry!" called Sherlock, stepping into his room "I need you to hold this- Look out!" He jumped back in fright, narrowly avoiding being impaled in the stomach by a shirtless Harry wielding a sword.

"Sorry." Harry said sheepishly "I didn't see you until it was too late. What can I do for you?"

"What were you doing with that sword?" asked Sherlock suspiciously "And what are you watching?"

"Fencing for beginners." Harry replied proudly "I think I'm rather good. I figured that since I wouldn't be using the Gryffindor sword for destroying Horcruxes, I might as well find some other use for it."

Sherlock sighed. "That is definitely the superior object between the two Dumbledore left you in his will. I wish it was as obvious what he intended you to do with the other object he gave you. That's actually why I came up, though, I need you to hold this for me." He held his hand out and presented Harry with the Snitch that Dumbledore had left him in his will.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're still on that? Let it go, it's really not important, since I have no intention of killing Tom."

As if Sherlock could let a puzzle go. And in any case, it would be wise not to underestimate the damage Dumbledore could do from beyond the grave. So he simply held the snitch out to Harry stubbornly, who sighed, but smiled good naturedly, taking the snitch into his hand.

Sherlock scrutinized the tiny golden ball, but nothing happened.

"What are we expecting to happen?" Harry asked curiously, looking at the completely motionless snitch.

"I'm not sure." Sherlock replied, "I was reading up on snitch lore, and apparently, the snitch has flesh memory. That is- it remembers the first person to touch it. It's how they're able to decide a match if two seekers managed to put their hands on it at almost the same time. I thought that it would recognize your skin and respond to it somehow."

"Ah." Harry was chewing his lip and frowning down at the ball. It was cute of him to try to solve the mystery where Sherlock himself had failed, but it was useless. It was also nice of him, since Harry himself saw no need to solve the mystery.

"I think I might have an idea." Harry finally said.

Sherlock was surprised. "You have?"

"In my very first Quidditch match, I didn't catch the snitch with my hands," Harry explained, "I caught it with my mouth."

"Your mouth?" Sherlock snickered.

"It flew right into my mouth like a fly." Harry told him, and then took the snitch and pressed his mouth against it. Writing appeared on the once smooth surface of the snitch.

"Give that here!" Sherlock demanded, grabbing the golden ball from Harry. There were five words on it, written in thin slanted handwriting.  _I open at the close._

Harry leaned over Sherlock's shoulder. "I open at the close." he said "What do you suppose that means?"

_I open at the close I open at the close I open at the close_

_"_ No idea." Sherlock finally admitted.

"Oh well," Harry shrugged, losing interest "it's still less cryptic than what he left Hermione."

That reminded Sherlock that he had a break-in to plan, and a book of fairy tales written by Beedle the Bard to steal.

He rushed out of the room, taking care to store the words  _I open at the close_  safely in his mind-castle.

* * *

Severus looked at his watch again impatiently, only to see that there were still 15 minutes until the time he had told Potter to meet him. He sighed. He was not looking forward to meeting with Potter, even less so than usual, in fact, but he was impatient to get it over with. He wished, for the dozenth time, that Albus had chosen someone else to break the news to Potter.

It had been bad enough to condemn him to death before, but Severus's experience at the Dursley abode had made it ten times worse.

He had been greeted at the entrance to the suburban house by Petunia, still as stick-thin and horse-faced as ever, with a cold "You! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Believe me, Petunia, I take just as little pleasure in the meeting as you do," he had retorted coldly, pushing past her into the house "but unfortunately, there is something here that I need to examine."

She sputtered with indignity. "How dare you? Who's given you permission to enter my home? Out! I want you out!" She shut up abruptly when Severus pulled his wand out and pointed it at her.

"There is a war going on, Petunia." He snarled "People's lives are at stake, this is no frivolous matter. I have no time for your petty grudges."

She remained quiet, eyeing his wand with hate. Unfortunately, her husband had heard her raise her voice, and had come down the stairs at the sound of it. Severus felt a headache coming on at the prospect of dealing with two of them. He hoped the husband would be more reasonable than his wife.

That was not to be. The large man took one look at him, then his wand, and bellowed. "Freak! Get away from my wife! Out!"

Severus rolled his eyes and moved his wand from Petunia to her large, purple-faced husband. "Silence!" he commanded, and the man shrank back. "I have important business here. The less trouble you give me, the sooner I can finish and be on my way."

"Vernon, listen to him." Petunia pleaded with him, being sensible for once.

The fat man, Vernon, obeyed her and made no move towards Severus, though he looked as if he were dying to get his hands around Severus's throat.

"We thought we were through with your lot." He told Severus resentfully. "When the boy ran away, we thought we were done with all this freakish nonsense for good. Why do you keep on bothering us? We're decent people, we don't want anything to do with your kind, we just want to live our lives in peace. The boy's gone now, and good riddance, so why do you keep on coming back?"

From the way he talked it sounded as if Severus wasn't the first magical person to visit the Dursleys since Potter had left. Or, as it turns out, ran away. Interesting.

"You may have to take the boy back." He warned Vernon Dursley "For his own safety. There are dangerous people out there who want him dead."

"What business is it of mine?" the huge man bellowed "He left! He's gone! I'm not responsible for him any longer! He can die for all I care!"

Sweet Merlin, what despicable people. When Potter had told him with cold eyes that he had sworn never to come back to this house, Severus had guessed at the reason. He had seen the relationship between Lily and Petunia as it soured, after all. The two sisters had loved each other, but magic was a touchy subject. If brought up, it could often lead to huge fights and to long angry silences between the two.

Severus had assumed the apart from a few tense incidents of accidental magic, Potter's relationship with his aunt had been fine during his early childhood, but that his acceptance into Hogwarts had caused the relationship to become rocky. Tensions had probably mounted in the house, as they had with Lily and Petunia, and the atmosphere had become more and more tempestuous until Potter finally decided that the best course of action was to sever all connection and move out.

Now Severus realized that he had obviously been wrong. Potter had not had a good relationship with his family that was ruined by the arrival of magic, he had never had a good relationship with them at all. His relationship with his family had been affected by magic from the very start. There was nothing, not even a trace of love or concern for Potter in this family. Petunia had probably hated him before she even set eyes on him him for being magical, and Vernon had obviously followed her example.

It was sad for a child to grow up in such a way, hated and despised, though not as unusual as Severus had once naively thought. He knew of quite a few Slytherins that never once returned home for the holidays, and frowned whenever their family was mentioned. Severus felt a stab of sympathy for Potter. After all, he himself had once been a poor little boy, despised by and large by all who knew him. Of course, just because Severus felt sorry for the boy didn't mean Potter wasn't an odious little twit. Severus himself had been an odious little twit that age, and he had had quite a similar upbringing.

He frowned in disgust at the Dursley couple and then waved his wand at the house, beginning to cast magic-detecting spells. Both Dursleys jumped back from the colorful magic display, and stood huddled together, watching Severus with fear and loathing, but unwilling to leave him alone to his own devices.

Watching the colourful lights as they illuminated certain patterns on the walls and created runes in midair, Severus soon realized that Potter had been telling the truth. The moment he had stopped considering this place his home, the protection spell had failed utterly. It did not hold even the slightest bit of power anymore. It was no use, he realized with disappointment, they would have to meet at Hogwarts. It was the next safest place to have the conversation.

He turned to Petunia and her husband. "I'm finished here."

Petunia's bony body sagged with relief.

"I see no reason that you should ever witness a single additional display of magic in your life." he told her "You've finally freed yourself of magic. Though it would serve you right if I cursed you. Anyone who would treat a child the way you have deserves to suffer a bit."

Petunia merely glared at him hatefully, but her husband blustered with indignation. "How dare you! How we've treated him! We gave him food, didn't we? And a place to sleep? He should be damn grateful!"

Severus sneered at him. "He'd probably have been better off in an orphanage than with the likes of you."

Dursley's eyes narrowed. "What did he tell you? Did he say we hit him? Well it's a lie! I never laid a finger on him!"

"He never said anything to me." Severus replied coldly pointing his wand at the man "But the fact that you automatically thought you were being accused of physical abuse as well as your defensiveness when I hadn't even accused you, indicates to me that you  _did_  hit him."

Dursley paled and back away from the wand as Severus advanced on him.

"Don't like force when it's used on you? Don't like it when the tables are turned?"

"Stop!" cried Petunia. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. "Please! Please just go. Haven't your kind done enough already?"

This gave Severus pause. The phrase "Haven't you kind done enough already?" seemed to imply that this wasn't the first confrontation they had had with wizards that had ended badly. Severus remembered Vernon Dursley's words from before. "The boy's gone now, so why do you keep coming back?" Severus was not the first wizard to have visited the Dursleys since Potter left their house.

Severus scrutinized the couple, and then looked, truly looked, around the house for the first time.

The couple both had deep dark circles under their eyes, and there was a harassed tiredness to the way Petunia held herself. The house, which Severus would have expected to be spotlessly clean based on his earlier acquaintance with Petunia, was dusty and dark.

"What happened?" he asked Petunia "Who's been here?"

"I don't know who." she muttered.

"Don't lie to me, Petunia." Severus snarled, advancing upon her.

She stumbled back, and almost walked into a vase standing behind her.

Suddenly, the hydrangea resting in the vase lunged at Petunia, as if it were alive, and, teeth appearing out of nowhere, it  _bit_  her on the arm.

Petunia yelped and stumbled back.

"Ah, I see." Severus said, looking at the disheveled woman. They had not been cursed by Death Eaters. This was a hex, meant to harass rather than torture, cast out of anger and desire for revenge.

"It appears I am not the first person who has felt you deserved some magical retribution. Someone has beat me to it."

"It's worse for him." Petunia said, gesturing at her husband with her head. "He can't get near any of the furniture- chairs, couches, or beds. He has to sleep on the floor now."

"Hmm... Interesting use of magic." he told her. "Quite creative."

She flinched.

"Not necessarily legal," Severus mused, "but he would know there is no one you would report it to. Well, my work here is done. Goodbye, Petunia."

"Aren't you going to-" she burst out.

"What?" he asked harshly "Help you? Remove the hex? I don't think so. You made your bed, Petunia, you and your husband both. Now lay in it." And he swept out of the house.

Potter was resourceful, Severus had to admit to himself, to have gotten around the trace, somehow. Whatever it was he had done to his aunt and uncle, it had obviously gone undetected. But then, he had already known that Potter was a cunning little bastard. He has seen it in their duel after Albus's funeral. The second the little tick had noticed how fast he deflected the spells aimed at him, he had begun casting spells that weren't aimed specifically at Severus, but rather at the objects around him, causing them to attack him.

That just made it even worse, though. He wasn't just telling a sixteen-year-old child he had to die. He was telling a boy who had grown up in a terrible home and endured an abysmal childhood that just now, just as he'd managed to get away and begin a new life for himself, just as he finally avenged his past and began a better future, he had been doomed to die.

And now he was sitting in his office, and Potter would be there in just-, Severus checked his watch again, 8 minutes, and Severus would have to break the news to him. He rubbed his temples tiredly, and tried to recapture the absolute fury he had felt when he caught Potter snooping in his Pensieve. It was no use, though, he couldn't hate Potter anymore. Not now, not at this point, not when he was about to doom him to an early death.

Severus shifted uncomfortably, looking for a distraction, anything to take his mind off what was coming. There was nothing, though. Hogwarts castle was completely silent. Severus himself had purposely chosen a day in which he knew none of the other Professors planned to come to Hogwarts. He wanted the castle completely empty when disclosing the sensitive information to Harry.

Finally, after an agonizing few minutes, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Severus called, and watched as Potter entered and walked towards him hesitantly. They were not here in the roles of teacher and student, but Severus could see that Potter was still slightly intimidated by being summoned to his hated Potions master's office.

"Have a seat, Potter." he said, trying to keep his voice level and calm. The boy obeyed.

"What is it you need to tell me?" the boy finally asked, when too long a time had elapsed and Severus had still not gained the courage to begin speaking.

He forced himself to look into Potter's eyes. Usually, he tried to avoid looking at the familiar green eyes, Lily's eyes, as much as he could, but he owed it to the boy to look him in the eyes as he broke the news.

"Albus Dumbledore has entrusted me with information that I am to give you when the time is right. I believe that now is that time." Severus swallowed before continuing. "Sixteen years ago, when the Dark Lord came to your parents' home and attempted to kill you, the Killing Curse he sent at you rebounded back and ripped his soul from this body. It did another thing, though, as well. It ripped his soul apart, and a small piece of his soul was separated from the whole. This piece latched on to the closest living thing in the vicinity- you. A piece of the Dark Lord's soul resides inside you. It explains why you have visions of him, how you can see into his mind when he is miles away. As long as that piece resides inside you, the Dark Lord cannot die."

"So," Potter said very slowly and quietly "in order for Voldemort to die, I would need to die too?"

Severus nodded, feeling wretched. "According to Albus Dumbledore, in order for him to die, you must die too, and it must be by the Dark Lord's hand."

"I open at the close." the boy murmured, he looked like something was dawning on him. "He knew. He planned it."

I open at the close? What was he talking about?

But he could not ask, the boy had already bolted out of his office, and begun to run towards the entrance. Severus quickly grabbed his cloak and followed him, hoping he wouldn't have to prevent Potter from doing anything foolish like trying to seek out the Dark Lord on his own. Potter did no such thing, however. He ran out of the castle and towards the lake until he reached Albus's grave.

Severus watched from a distance, remaining silent and giving the boy some privacy as he stood, staring at the headstone, chest heaving.

Then, it was like an explosion had taken place inside him, and he had to let it out. He began shouting.

"I FORGAVE YOU!" he screamed at the grave "I FORGAVE YOU AND MADE MY PEACE, AND THEN I FIND OUT THAT YOU WERE PLANNING FOR ME TO DIE ALL ALONG! LEADING ME ON LIKE A PIG FOR SLAUGHTER! I'D FORGIVEN YOU, I'D MOVED ON! HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU?"

He began punching the marble of Albus's gravestone. Over and over, paying no attention to the fact that his fist was beginning to bleed.

Alarmed, Severus rushed to the boy's side and physically restrained him before he could hurt himself any further. Holding Potter's hand in a vice-like grip, he pointed his wand at it and healed the bone. Potter sat quietly, suddenly drained of energy, and allowed Severus to heal his hand.

"I'd've expected no better from you." he said to Severus finally, as Severus waved his wand over the hand once last time. When he looked down at Potter's face, he saw tear marks. "I'd've expected no better from you," he said again, "but Dumbledore- I really thought he cared for me."

"He did." Severus told him, his attempt at sounding comforting coming out awkward and stilted. "He just thought you would die either way, and he wanted it to happen under the right circumstances. But he wasn't happy with it, this isn't how he wanted it."

"Shut up, Snape!" Potter snapped. And he pulled his hand out of Severus's grip and stormed off.

Severus sighed, before shaking his head and heading out of the school as well, albeit at a far more sedate pace. He had done his part, the rest was up to Potter, and Severus honestly wished him luck.

 


	21. Chapter 20

The fireplace flared green, and sent emerald sparks flying on Tom, who had been sitting in front of the fire, tinkering with a remembrall. He had told Sherlock earlier that he was very close to modifying it to reveal what a person forgot rather than just telling if they forgot something. He was very absorbed in his work, and so hadn't noticed Harry's arrival by floo until Harry fell out of the fireplace, tripped on him, and ended up sprawled above him on the floor.

The commotion had caused Sherlock to look up. Having finished reading the book he had been absorbed in the day before (The Tales of Beedle the Bard) he had occupied himself today by stealing the gift Ron Weasley had received in Dumbledore's will. It appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter, but actually served the function of extinguishing and reigniting all lamps in the vicinity when clicked. Sherlock had been clicking it all day, trying to figure out the hidden message behind the innocuous object. Hence the need for Tom to work sprawled on his stomach on the floor by the light of the fire, which the extinguisher didn't seem to affect. Tom had grumbled slightly about the nuisance Sherlock was, complaining that Yorry had yet to recover from finding the Blast-Ended Skrewt in the loo, but there was an amused glimmer in his eye, and he had ruffled Sherlock's hair fondly while getting up to sit by the fire.

Sitting by the fire hadn't been so clever, Sherlock mused, watching Harry stumble to the floor and land on Tom. Tom must have forgotten that Harry was planning on returning home via the floo in The Three Broomsticks. Tom may have taught Harry how to apparate, but Harry had said that he wouldn't put it past Snape to spy on him, and he didn't want to be caught apparating without a license.

"That was shorter than I expected!" Tom announced, twisting his neck to look up at Harry, "What did Severus want? Harry?" He sat up as Harry quickly stumbled to his feet.

Harry's breaths were short and had a stutter to them, and he looked quite pale.

"What's wrong?" Tom demanded anxiously.

"He... He told me... Snape said..." Harry's incoherence was worrying "I need to sit down and think about this for a second."

With that, Harry collapsed into the couch.

After a few seconds of taking deep, calming breaths, Harry began again. "Snape told me something that Dumbledore asked him to tell me when the time was right. He'd kept it from me until now, when he decided the time was right to tell me about it."

"Was is it?" Tom asked, he looked as worried as Sherlock felt, but he took care to keep his words calm and leave any trace of urgency out of them.

"When Tom tried to kill me as a baby," Harry began, and Tom flinched. He didn't like to be reminded of that. Harry didn't like speaking of it either, and Sherlock wondered why Harry had brought it up. "After my mom protected me with her love and the Killing Curse backfired, it hit Tom and ripped his soul from his body. But it also did another thing- it ripped his soul apart."

The penny dropped. Sherlock's mouth dropped open, and he leapt out of the couch in triumph. "Of course! Oh, it all makes sense now! The way Harry's scar burns! His visions. Oh-" he nearly sighed with pleasure at how perfectly everything fit together as something new occurred to him. "I open at the close! That sneaky bastard, he knew all along!"

"What? I still don't understand." Tom looked baffled, poor dimwitted thing.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and simply waves his hand at Harry indicating that he should tell Tom what Sherlock himself had already figured out.

"When the Killing Curse hit you," Harry continued, speaking only to Tom now, "a piece of your soul broke apart from the whole, and since I was the only living thing in the area, it attached itself to me. I'm your seventh Horcrux."

"Oh!" Tom breathed, and he sat down on the sofa heavily, looking stunned.

In the end, he sighed. "It's actually rather nice, when you think about it-" he turned to Harry, "My soul inside you. I can't think of a place I'd rather have it. Why do you look so distressed?"

Harry's lip trembled and it was unclear whether it was in sadness or anger. "Dumbledore wanted me to know that the only way for the piece of soul in me to be removed is to let you kill me. I'm not distressed about having your soul in me. I'm distressed, hurt- furious that Dumbledore was planning for me to die this whole time. Before I met Sirius, he was the closest thing I had to a parent. I cared for him, and I thought he cared for me too, but all this time he was just planning my death."

"I'm sorry, Harry." Tom said quietly, and wrapped his arms around Harry. Harry chuckled wryly, and embraced him back. They both let go rather quickly, embarrassed.

"You know what this means." Tom finally said, after a pause. He was grimacing in distaste. "I need to go through the whole remorse thing again. I have two Horcruxes now, and that's no good. I might go crazy again, and start shooting off spells at you, I'm actually shocked it hasn't happen before now. In any case, I need to get back to having only one Horcrux as soon as I can."

"Actually, Tom," Harry began speaking quietly, and Sherlock turned to him in shock. Was Harry really going to reveal to Tom that the Diadem Horcrux had been reabsorbed along with all the rest and that they had kept it a secret from him? Harry must have noticed Sherlock's look of disbelief, because he sighed and turned to Sherlock.

"I know what you're thinking, Sherlock, but we need to tell him. We can't keep it a secret forever, and he deserves to know."

"Deserves to know what?" asked Tom suspiciously.

Well, it was true. Sherlock had always known that Tom would eventually find out. After all, he was bound to notice soon that he had started aging again. Sherlock had just hoped to be able to cure Tom of his death phobia before he found out. It was not to be, though. So he made himself be brave and tell Tom the truth.

"Know that your diadem Horcrux was absorbed with the rest of them, that night you put your soul back together. Harry and I saw that same light leave it and go inside you as the lights that came from the other Horcruxes."

"And you didn't tell me?" Tom looked stunned, and if he had been punched in the stomach.

"We won't even try to apologize, Tom." Harry said heavily "We had no right to hide that from you. You should know, though, that we only did it out of love for you. We were afraid that if you knew you didn't have any Horcruxes left you'd murder again to make a new Horcrux. We didn't want you to do through that pain, not when your soul was finally whole and you had a real chance to heal. I know we had no right, but we did what we thought was best, and I, for one, can't be sorry for that."

"Out of love for me?!" Tom snarled "You know how many enemies I have, and despite the fact that at the time we thought that the Diadem Horcrux was the last one keeping me from mortality you allowed me to be so vulnerable?! How can you say that it was out of love for me?!" His voice had risen to a shout now, and he was towering over Harry menacingly.

Sherlock's first instinct was to jump to Harry's defense, but he was quite sure that would make the situation worse. Instead, he watched the confrontation tensley, worry churning in his stomach.

In any case, Harry was holding his own successfully. "It  _was_  out of love for you, and it was for the best." He replied firmly, "And once you're able to think about this in a rational manner, you'll see that too."

"I won't see that." Tom's voice was frightfully cold "And you know what else I won't ever see? You. I don't want anything to do with you ever again. Either of you." He added, turning to face Sherlock as well. "I trusted you with my darkest secrets and you betrayed me. When I get back to this house I want it empty from all trace of either of you."

Then, with a pop, Tom vanished.

"Well, that could have gone better." Harry said heavily, sinking down into the couch with a sigh.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed "but we were both expecting something of the sort, weren't we? He'll cool down eventually."

"I just hope it will be sooner rather than later." Harry replied "And that in the meantime he won't do anything stupid."

"It'll be fine, Harry." Sherlock said, touching his shoulder lightly, more out of hope than true belief.

Harry smiled. "So, while we wait for Tom to come back and discover that we're still here despite his wishes, let's do the thing I know you've been dying to ever since you figured out Dumbledore's riddle."

Sherlock excitedly put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the Golden Snitch. He placed it gently in Harry's hand, and watched Harry place his lips once more against the Snitch.

"I am going to die." he whispered, and smirked triumphantly as the Snitch fell open in his hand.

"It's not even a lie, really." He told Sherlock, "I am going to die, eventually. What's this?"

He lifted the black rock in his hands, and examined it.

Sherlock's fingers reached out automatically to grab the rock from Harry. After all, Harry was probably missing quite a bit of information that Sherlock could easily deduce. Not being the genius that Sherlock was, all Harry was probably seeing was just a small black rock. His hands dropped in surprise, though, at Harry's exclamation of: "I know this rock!"

"Explain." Sherlock ordered impatiently.

"This symbol on it- I recognize the symbol. This is the stone that belonged on the ring that was Tom's Horcrux. When Dumbledore showed me the memory of the Gaunts, Marvolo was wearing this. He said that this was the Peverell coat of arms."

The name Peverell rang a bell, and the fact that he had seen it in a book that had also been an inheritance from Dumbledore couldn't be a coincidence.

"Give that here!" he demanded, snatching the ring from Harry and examining it.

A quick trip to his mind castle confirmed his suspicions. Not only did the markings on the stone match the illustration in the story 'The Tale of the Three Brothers', but the tale was attributed to the Peverell brothers. This was the Resurrection Stone from the story.

Rather than revealing his newfound knowledge to Harry, Sherlock decided to make a vague thoughtful sound and pocket the stone. One of Sherlock's secret pleasures was building up the suspense about the solution to a case, and then revealing it in the most dramatic moment, and the right moment had not yet arrived.

Harry shrugged, losing interest in Dumbledore's bequeathment once again. "How long do you think it will take him to calm down and come back?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Twenty minutes?"

Harry nodded, and then left the room, muttering something about finding a way to occupy himself in the meantime.

As it turned out, the only way Harry could think of to occupy himself was pacing. Sherlock heard him overhead going back and forth and back again. Staring at the deluminator pensively, he clicked it on and off in sync with Harry's steps as the lights in the room flashed on and off around him.

Pace pace pace click click click. Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. Pace click pace click. An hour passed. An hour and thirteen minutes was when Harry finally had enough and stormed down the stairs to talk to Sherlock, a look of resolve on his face.

Sherlock continued clicking the deluminator on and off as Harry approached him.

Just as Harry opened his mouth, Sherlock interrupted him, gesturing with the silver cigarette lighter.

"I wish I knew what this thing does," he told Harry pensively, "if it's half as useful as the stone Dumbledore left you then it's quite precious."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and then paused, the meaning of Sherlock's words dawning on him. "Wait, you know what the stone does?"

"Obviously." Said Sherlock blithely.

"And you didn't say anything? Typical. Well, what is it?"

"Never mind now," Sherlock replied evasively, "What were you going to say?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you were aware I was about to say something? Given how you interrupted me I wasn't sure."

"Oh, I knew." Sherlock reassured him, "I just didn't care."

Harry rolled his eyes, grinning, then sobered up as he addressed the reason he'd approached Sherlock. "I'm concerned about Tom. Maybe we should go out and look-" he drifted off in the middle of the sentence to stare at the deluminator.

The second Harry had uttered the word "Tom" a light had emerged from it and hovered towards Harry. It seemed to hesitate for a second, before shooting towards Harry and entering his body.

Harry stilled in shock for a few long seconds. Then he looked up at Sherlock, determination in his eyes. "Take my hand!" he commanded.

"What's going on?" Sherlock questioned, swallowing his annoyance at the fact that he was the one who needed to ask the question for a change.

"The light." Harry said, "It wants me to apparate. Take my hand."

Sherlock did so, glancing suspiciously at the cigarette lighter in his hand.

Harry closed his eyes, and a pop and a squeezing sensation later, and they were both standing under a yew tree beneath a darkening sky.

"What are you doing here? I thought I made my feelings perfectly clear." Tom's growl was a mix between anger and hurt. He had spun around, wand pointed threateningly at the sound of their apparation, but had lowered it once he recognized them. He was standing amidst a small graveyard, and the headstone he had been looking at when they appeared was cracked down the middle. Sherlock scrutinized it.

"This is the place, isn't it?" He asked Tom, in lieu of answering his question, "This is the place where your father is buried? Where you came back to life?"

Tom's lip curled at the mention of his father, but he nodded.

"Tom, what made you come here, of all places?" Harry asked. That was the last thing on Sherlock's mind, but it appeared to have been the right question to ask, as Tom sighed and ran his hand through his hair looking suddenly less guarded and more like the human, approachable Tom that he allowed himself to be in their presence.

"I don't really know. I was just thinking about death and life and fear, and it seemed natural to come here." His face clouded again. "I could never have come back to life in this place if it hadn't been for my Horcruxes."

"Perhaps not." Sherlock replied "But this isn't only the site of your coming back to life. This place is also a reminder of all the mistakes you made, everything you lost to the Horcruxes. This is the place in which your father is buried, murdered by your own hand. This is the place to which you kidnapped Harry, where you tortured him before trying to kill him."

Tom shuddered.

"That's what we wanted to protect you from." Harry joined in, his voice softer than Sherlock had ever heard it, as if to reassure Tom beyond all doubt that he had been forgiven for his past actions. "If you can only have life if it comes at the price of being Voldemort, is that really a life so worth holding on to? The constant hatred and anger and desire to hurt?"

Tom sighed. "It isn't. I know it isn't, and I understand why you did what you did. I still don't think you had any right to keep that sort of thing from me, mind you, but I understand why you did it, and I'll be able to forgive you for it. The thing is, I know that you were right in your reasonings, but I don't know if I can do what needs to be done. I've spent all my life being afraid, being petrified, clinging onto any chance of immortality with all I had. I don't think I have the courage to face those fears and let them all go. I want to, I know the Horcruxes are bad for me, and I know that they've caused me to make a mess of my life, but I don't think I'm brave enough to let them go. I'm not like you, Harry, I've never been able to stare death in the face."

Harry seemed lost, and Sherlock thought he understood why. It was one thing to convince Tom of the validity of their reasonings, but what could they do when Tom acknowledged that they were right, but was still unable to let go of his immortality?

Harry's helplessness in the face of Tom's distress made Sherlock feel all the more smug as he lightly said: "Well, who says you have to?"

"Hm?" Tom was puzzled, and Harry was also staring at him cluelessly.

This was Sherlock's favourite part- the big reveal. And they both suspected nothing! "Who says that by letting go of your Horcruxes you have to surrender yourself to death? It certainly would be quite the distressing dilemma if that were the case, now, wouldn't it? But thankfully for you, you won't have to choose."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?" Harry asked, rather impatiently.

Sherlock couldn't resist drawing it out a bit more, though. "You know, you really need to appreciate Albus Dumbledore's genius. He leaves each of Harry and his little friends a gift that seems totally useless, but when you put them all together, suddenly everything falls into place. Ron's deluminator led us to Tom, Harry's snitch contained the item that will allow Tom to be cured, but only with Hermione's book can we understand what it is we have in our hands. The book she recieved, you see, appears to simply be a book of fairy tales, but one of the stories there is quite interesting. The Tale of the Three Brothers. It tells of three brothers, who were travelling down-"

"Sherlock, we don't want to hear the story right now!" Tom interrupted rather rudely, "We want to know what you mean about me being able to give up the Horcruxes and still be immortal!"

Harry nodded fervently in agreement, so Sherlock, in an act that could only stem from pure love, decided to forgo the long buildup towards the dramatic reveal, and simply say what he knew. "The stone that was hidden in the Snitch once you opened it, Harry, is called the Resurrection Stone, and it has the power to bring people back from the dead."

"That's possible?" Harry's eyes were wide with shock. Tom simply seemed frozen.

"Well, I'm not sure if it's exactly being brought back to life or if there's something different about it. The story made it seem like the woman was stuck somewhere in between, not fully alive, though not dead."

"What woman?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You should really have let me tell you the story first," he criticized Harry, "then you would have had some context."

"Tell it to us now." Tom commanded hoarsely.

Sherlock did.

Once he was done, Harry looked incredulous and Tom looked skeptical. "Death is a person? Does he also have a dark cloak and a scythe?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tom, you managed to make yourself immortal by splitting your soul. Do you really think it's wise to simply dismiss this story? Especially considering the object Dumbledore left Harry?"

"I'm not giving up Horcruxes on the off chance that a children's fairy tale is actually true. Bring back someone from the dead with it, and I'll be convinced."

"Fine!" Sherlock declared, more confidently than he felt, and thrust the stone into Tom's hand, praying to any deity that might exist that he was right about the stone. "Take it and turn it three times!"

Tom grabbed the Resurrection Stone and quickly followed Sherlock's orders.

A second later his eyes widened. "You!" he gasped.

Sherlock looked around, but he could see no one. He caught Harry's eye, but Harry shrugged at him. It appeared that only Tom could spot the apparition that he had summoned.

Sherlock had never seen anyone look so frightened in all his life. Tom had gathered himself enough, though, to begin talking to the person he had summoned. Sherlock listened to his soft, choked-up murmurings that half sounded like pleas, trying to figure out who Tom had summoned, but they were frustratingly uninformative.

"I summoned you?... No, I didn't know..." there was a long pause as Tom listened intently to what he was being told. His face looked as though he had been punched in the stomach. "Yes, I am... I know... It's true, I don't deserve it, but I have it now, and I cherish it... I didn't plan for it to happen like this, you have to believe me..." There was a long pause as Tom listened to the person he had summoned, and tears began rolling down his face "Yes, I know what I have to do, and I swear to you- once I do, I'll spend every moment of my life trying to be deserving." Tom's eyes turned to Harry and softened. "Yes, I'll tell him... Thank you... Thank you so much... I'm so sorry, so so sorry, you have to know how sorry I am... I swear... I'm sorry!" Tom was sobbing outright now.

Suddenly, a cry escaped Harry's lips, and both him and Tom collapsed in a flash of white light that looked as if it had emanated from Harry and been absorbed into Tom. Ah. So Tom's soul was whole once more. Sherlock suddenly had a hunch regarding who Tom had summoned with the Resurrection Stone.

Sherlock debated who he should approach first and try to wake up, and he'd finally decided on Harry, since this experience would have been totally new to him, as opposed to Tom who'd reabsorbed a Horcrux before, when both began to stir.

"Harry." Tom said hoarsely as soon as he'd gotten his bearings, "Your parents want you to know that they love you."

Harry gasped. "That's who you were talking to?"

Tom nodded solemnly. "Yes. They wanted me to tell you that they want you to have a long and happy life, and are glad of any choices you make to further that goal. I don't think they exactly approve of me as your choice of partner," he smiled sheepishly, "but they understand that I'm trying to change and be better. And they mainly just want you to be just as happy as you possibly can."

Harry smiled, and Sherlock spotted moisture in his eyes. "That's lovely. Do you think I'd be able to summon them and talk to them myself?"

"I don't know if you should, Harry." Sherlock told him regretfully. "If they had intended for you to summon them again they wouldn't have given Tom a message to pass on to you. And all the literature I've read on the subject seems to indicate that summoning the dead isn't something to be done when it can be avoided. I don't think the dead like it."

Harry sighed, but didn't seem surprised to hear Sherlock's opinion. He nodded resignedly.

"But you'll still summon me back, right?" Tom asked anxiously. "When I die, I'm telling you upfront now- I want to be summoned back. It's the only reason I had the courage to get rid of the last Horcrux."

"What if you die and discover you want to stay dead?" Harry asked.

"Then when you summon me back, I'll ask you to let me go, but I want it to be my choice."

"Fair enough." Harry consented, shrugging.

"It's settled then!" Sherlock pronounced happily.

"So... What now?" Harry said, true to his cute but annoying habit of asking stupid questions.

"Now everything is as it should be! Tom is finally completely cured and whole, none of us are keeping things from each other anymore, and we have a cold case from Scrimgeour that I've been saving for a special occasion!"

When Harry's pleased smile wasn't as enthusiastic as he felt the situation called for, Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. "A lot has happened today, maybe you need a good night's sleep to really appreciate the beauty of how everything has come together perfectly."

Tom eyed Harry worriedly now too, and Harry smiled wanly. "I do think too much has happened today for me to take it all in. I just need some time to absorb everything. I am very happy though." he added reassuringly.

"Hmm, yes. I do believe we could all use a distraction after all this heaviness." Tom said. "I'm taking you both out for Butterbeers and Firewhiskey. Sherlock, you can tell us about the new case."

"And after that we're going home and getting laid." Harry added.

Tom rolled his eyes. "I didn't think that needed saying."

* * *

It was apparent to Tom that Sherlock and Harry still felt a bit bad about their deception towards him. Perhaps they were also worried about the inevitably painful and traumatic experience that reabsorbing the Horcrux had been, because from the moment they arrived home, as if by silent accord, they had both turned their undivided attention to overwhelming him with sensation.

Sherlock had pulled him in for a rough kiss, unbuttoning Tom's robe and sliding it off his shoulders while still maintaining the presence of mind to slide his tongue in Tom's mouth in the way he knew drove him crazy. He was now sliding his arms down Tom's chest, while Harry approached Tom from behind. He briefly squeezed Tom's ass before sliding his arms around the front to unzip his fly and push his trousers down.

Merlin damn them! They were actually succeeding in taking his mind off the events of the day!

He decided he'd better just let it go and enjoy it when Sherlock pushed him lightly so that he fell back on the bed, and pulled his shirt off his head. There was a few seconds break as they all struggled out of their clothes as quickly as they could, and then Sherlock was pushing Tom back on the bed, fingers fluttering over his now exposed cock before moving on to massage his balls, making Tom grunt.

While Sherlock was scattering kisses and creating hickeys on Tom's collarbones, and generally moving his mouth downward with very obvious intent, Tom saw Harry had already gotten his hands on the lube and was standing behind Sherlock. Tom couldn't quite see what he was doing with his hands, but judging by the noises Sherlock was making he could hazard a pretty good guess.

Sherlock's kisses were beginning to become far more sloppy and desperate, and Tom gripped the sheets helplessly, nearly ripping them, when he finally put his mouth right where Tom wanted it. As his head flopped uselessly back on the pillow, Tom's eyes met Harry's. Harry smiled tenderly at him, and then winked rather mischievously. A second later Sherlock made a strangled sound in his throat that caused Harry to look quite pleased with himself and Tom to nearly come at the sensation.

"Merlin..." Tom panted out "...You two... Oh God, don't stop!"

Sherlock squeezed his thigh in reply.

Tom came with a shout, and heard Harry's relatively quiet gasp as he followed. Harry was always unusually quiet during sex, and Tom attributed it to the need for silence when masturbating in a dorm-room full of boys. He reached down to pump Sherlock and help him reach his release, which came soon after.

A few minutes later after quick showers, Tom crawled into bed between Harry, who was already half asleep with his mouth annoyingly open in a way Tom knew would cause drooling during the night, and Sherlock, who was sketching something in a notebook and muttering to himself.

"You know," Tom said quietly "I love you. I probably don't say that enough."

"No," Sherlock replied "you say it enough."

"Yeah," Harry muttered sleepily "kill me if we ever become one of those sickeningly sweet couples that are always saying gooey things to each other. But, you know, ditto."

"Oh, good." Tom breathed. "Good night."

Sherlock grunted in return. Harry snored. Sweet Merlin, sometimes Tom couldn't believe how lucky he was.

 


	22. Chapter 21

George peeked around, and when he had made sure no one they recognized was around to see them, rushed into Knockturn Alley with Fred, pulling the hood of his robe up to blend in.

He walked side by side with his brother, his step sure though he wasn't positive they were really going in the right direction. Confidence was key if you didn't want to be harassed in Knockturn Alley. Anyone who showed weakness would find themselves troubled by a hag or ogre hoping to get a chance to harvest some organs.

Passing by the door of a seedy-looking bar, George startled as a hooded figure stumbled out. It was a witch, judging by the high-pitched and rather tipsy giggle. She glanced behind her for a second, and that was all it took for her to trip drunkenly and crash straight into George. For a split second he caught sight of an exceptionally attractive face with heavily made-up eyes and blood red lips, before her head smashed against his and black circles clouded his eyes for a moment.

"Oh shit!" the witch exclaimed in a far more masculine voice than she had appeared to have had a second ago. George gaped with shock, an expression he could see mirrored by his brother. Bumping into him had caused the hood on the witch's robe to fall off and George now realized that there must have been an appearance-altering spell on the hood, because the second it had fallen back the beautiful woman's face melted away to reveal the rather young face of what was definitely a wizard. A very familiar wizard.

"Harry?" Fred cried out, shocked.

"Sh!" Harry shushed him emphatically, flipping his hood back on and staring towards bar worriedly.

Harry's familiar face turned back into the sultry eyed woman under the hood, and just in time it seemed, as a grimy-haired man walked out of the bar and looked straight at Harry, licking his lips. "Goodbye luv!" he called out to him, and George grimaced as he spotted yellowing teeth, "I'll floo ya!".

The hooded figure (that George was having trouble associating with Harry) giggled and blew him a kiss as he apparated away.

As soon as the man was gone, Harry sighed with relief, flipping his hood back off.

"What the hell, Harry?" George demanded incredulously, too shocked to make fun of him.

"Sh!" Harry cautioned "Not so loud! Let's find somewhere quiet where we can talk."

Fred met George's eyes over Harry's head, and they both nodded at each other before each of them seized one of Harry's arms and they dragged him to a darkened corner. George cast a cloaking and privacy spell as Fred rounded on Harry. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same things." Harry retorted.

"We're picking up some Acromantula Venom for an experiment." Fred replied rolling his eyes.

"Yes, a perfectly reasonable action with a perfectly reasonable explanation-"

"Unlike picking up suspicious looking strangers-"

"-at a seedy bar-"

"-while pretending to be female!"

Harry huffed, as if Fred and George were reacting in an unreasonably dramatic manner. "We needed to find out if the man back there had a round black scar on his chest, and getting him to show off for a female seemed like the best way to do that. I was chosen as live bait."

"A round black scar?" George questioned.

"Yeah, it's an indication that certain dark rituals have been performed by the person with the scar."

"And why should that matter to you?" Fred asked.

"And who's we?" George chimed in.

"Oh, would you look at the time?" Harry exclaimed, "I gotta go!". And he apparated away.

"I didn't know Harry could apparate," George told his brother blankly, "he's only fifteen!"

"Merlin," Fred sighed, "you think you know a bloke."

"And then he goes and gets himself a mysterious double life without telling you." George mourned.

"What do you think that was all about?"

"It probably has to do with Dumbledore dying." George decided. "Dumbledore was the only person You-Know-Who was afraid of. Harry's probably worried about what's coming for him now that Dumbledore's gone, and trying to get some information about Death Eaters."

Fred sighed "Poor Harry."

"Well let's be optimistic!" George declared, "Maybe You-Know-Who got bit by his snake and dies of rabies. How would anyone know about something like that? And it would explain the complete silence from You-Know-Who's side. You've got to admit it's a bit strange that he's done nothing to terrorize Harry all of last year."

"Maybe you're right." Fred mused, looking hopeful. "Come on- we still need to get the Acromantula Venom. Those irritating-buzzing-noise curses won't create themselves."

* * *

"Well?" Sherlock asked, as Harry popped into the room. He had been dying of boredom waiting for Harry to show up. Poor Tom had suffered the brunt of it.

Harry nodded. "It's him alright, I saw the scar as clear as anything. Don't ask me what flirting I had to do to get him to take off his shirt." he shuddered at the memory.

Tom winced sympathetically.

"He asked me for my floo address," Harry continued, "so I just gave him Scrimgeour's home address. I should probably go warn Scrimgeour about that, now that I think of it."

Sherlock was torn between being impressed at Harry for handling the mission so well, and irritated at the fact that the murderer was now as good as caught. Tom seemed to share Sherlock's disappointment because he moaned. "Great, now what are we supposed to do? Sherlock's been climbing up the walls with boredom, literally. He might combust without a case."

"Too right." Sherlock grumbled.

Harry sighed. "I don't know if there's anything I can do about that. You know that the only other cold case that Scrimgeour's given us is Berths Jorkins' disappearance, which we already know was Tom, and there are no secret-Death-Eater-missions to do. Tom hasn't sent us out on one in weeks."

"I didn't see the point." Tom admitted, "Since none of us believe in any of that ideology anyways. I wasn't really planning on Voldemort pursuing world domination anymore, and especially now with the Horcruxes gone, I didn't think there was any value to it."

"How about the value of dissipating boredom?" Sherlock complained.

Harry nodded. "I'm with Sherlock. I don't want to kill or hurt muggles or anything, but all that spying around the Ministry of Magic and finding hidden cursed artifacts is very fun. I miss that."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "What happened to the boy who, just last year, was so sick of everything having to do with the fight that he decided writing a letter to Voldemort was a good idea?"

"That's different." Harry was quick to reply, "I'm with friends I can count on for one, instead of being alone, and I'm the one who's instigating the life-threatening adventures as opposed to having them surprisingly thrust upon me when I'm unprepared. Look, I know it's silly to want to get involved in all of that, especially since I never believed in all the pure-blooded nonsense you were supposedly working towards, but I guess I miss the adventure."

"I don't think it's silly." Sherlock was quick to say. The number of destructive boredom related incidents over the past year had decreased dramatically since he had met Harry. He didn't want that to end now that Tom was sane and all was well.

"You know," said Tom thoughtfully, "I know exactly what you're talking about. I don't want to hurt people or anything anymore, but I don't want to give up that life."

"I suppose we could keep on sneaking into the Ministry and stealing valuable artifacts or snooping in the Aurors' secret files." Harry suggested, "That was always fun."

"What's the point of getting secret information if we're not going to be doing anything with it?" Sherlock asked despondently.

"We could still do something with it." Harry suggested hesitantly, "Like attack the Ministry but instead of killing people or something like that, just destroy a bunch of property and stuff."

He didn't sound very enthusiastic about his own idea.

"What would that accomplish?" asked Tom dryly.

"Of course YOU wouldn't see the value of it, you've never had to deal with the Ministry's bureaucracy like I have. Anyone who's experienced a trial like mine would agree with me that fighting that system is a very noble quest."

"Even if it is a noble quest, where will the danger be?" Sherlock asked mournfully, "If all we'll be doing is destroying property, we'll just be a bunch of vandals. Worst case scenario if we're caught is we'll get a fine. What kind of excitement is that?"

"We need to raise the stakes somehow." Harry mused, "Make them chase after us seriously and make them want to catch us."

"Harry's right." Tom declared, "I've got it now - I know exactly what we need to do."

* * *

Cornelius Fudge was having a bad day. For the past two weeks he had been fielding off rumors of Dolores Umbridge's disappearance by saying she was taking a well deserved vacation after a whole year of managing boisterous little children, even though he had absolutely no knowledge of any plans she may have had to leave the country.

Cornelius supposed he should consider himself lucky that Dolores was so widely disliked that people had only started questioning her disappearance two weeks ago, because covert investigations indicated that she had been gone for well over a month and that, in fact, no one had seen her since the last day of Hogwart's finals. She hadn't even been at the end-of-year feast.

It had all come to a head earlier that day, as the Hogwarts owl that had been given a letter to send to Dolores asking for a book list for next year's curriculum refused to take off. When an owl refused to take off with a letter, it usually meant bad things for the letter's recipient, and now Cornelius was forced into a press conference where he would have to admit that the Ministry had absolutely no knowledge of what had become of their missing employee. He flinched as he spotted Rita Skeeter in the very front row, Quick-Quotes Quill brandished eagerly.

He took a deep breath and began. "Ladies, gentlemen and magical beings, it is with a very heavy heart that I must inform you that some new information regarding Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Jane Umbridge, has come to light. It seems that Madam Umbridge has gone missing, and none of her relations have any knowledge of her whereabouts. Allow me to assure you though, ladies and gentlemen, that the Ministry is doing everything in its power to find her. I have personally made sure that the whole auror department has been dispatched to investigate her disappearance, and have made it clear to Head Auror Scrimgeour that finding her should be the department's topmost priority." They couldn't afford to appear lax about her disappearance, not after the embarrassment of Bertha Jorkins two years earlier.

"Minister Fudge!" cried Rita Skeeter upfront, "Will the Ministry be taking responsibility for any harm that might have befallen Miss Umbridge, considering they have ignored all rumors of her disappearance for the past two weeks when they could already have been looking? Would you say that this lapse in judgement is due to your ministry's incompetence?"

Cornelius sighed, and barely resisted the urge to rub his temples, which were beginning to throb.

"No, not at-" Cornelius was saved from answering the question by a large column of smoke that had suddenly appeared behind him. He hoped fervently that it was the result of some trouble-causing artifact from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office that would create too much of a commotion to continue the press conference.

The smoke column expanded, pushing Cornelius back, and he was just about to suggest they begin to evacuate the room in case the smoke was toxic, when it began to dissipate and three figures stepped out of it.

Cornelius felt all the air in his lungs leave his mouth with a squeak when he realized what he was seeing. Stepping out of the smoke, flanked on both sides by dark-robed figures whose faces were obscured by Death Eater masks, stepped a man that looked more like a creature, with two slits for a nose, pale skin and red eyes. Lord Voldemort.

His body finally catching up with his head, Cornelius stumbled back, preparing to make a run for it.

"Tsk Tsk, Minister Fudge," Voldemort taunted, causing Cornelius to freeze in his tracks, "running away? And in front of the press, too? That doesn't inspire much confidence. And besides, I'm not here to harm anyone. I merely have a message I wish to convey to the wizarding world, and since you have all the press so conveniently gathered together, I thought I'd drop in to say hello."

His eyes coldly roamed the room, sliding over the people screaming and running for the doors. "The doors won't open until I've said what I came here for. Be silent." The room fell silent at his command, though most of the reporters continued to inch away towards the door.

"That's better. Now, as you know, your incompetent Ministry has been denying my return to life for well over a year. Up until now, these denials have served my purposes by allowing me to rally my forces secretly without needing to worry about interference from the Ministry. Now, however, I see no more need for such secrecy. My main occupation in the past year has been trying to find a way to get Harry Potter from under Albus Dumbledore's protection so that I could kill him, due to a prophecy made that he would be the only person capable of defeating me. Now, though, I have no more reason to be concerned about Harry Potter. Harry, say hello the the reporters."

The figure to the right of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stepped forward and removed the Death Eater mask. A gasp went through the room as the man behind the mask was revealed to be Harry Potter.

He surveyed the room with cold emotionless eyes before smirking slightly. "Hello, members of the press. It is my pleasure to announce to you that after over a year of being defamed and pronounce a liar despite the fact that no investigation into the death of Cedric Diggory was ever performed, after being tortured by the Ministry's representative at Hogwarts for telling the truth about the Dark Lord's return, and having carefully considered my options, I have decided it is in my best interests to align myself with the dark side. Unfortunately for you, according to an ancient prophecy, this means your side will lose and the dark side will win. My condolences." He bowed tauntingly and stepped back behind He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Did you get all that down?" the Dark Lord offhandedly asked the reporters, half of whom were scribbling frantically, while the other half hid under chairs. "Now, I want you to take down the following: To the Death Eaters who abandoned me when Harry Potter 'defeated' me all of those years ago: I have no more need for you. For your health, I suggest you go into hiding. The one Death Eater who has remained loyal, is here with me now." he indicated with his hand the cloaked figure standing on his left. He was tall, and had curly black hair, and looked in no way familiar to Cornelius. "If you are not the Death Eater standing here with me now at this moment- run. Any-"

He was interrupted by Cornelius who had finally managed to stop shaking for long enough to aim his wand and fire a red jet of light towards the door shouting: "Novem Triplex". It was the alarm spell, and would travel to the auror's office where it would alert all those present in the office of danger and of the location from which the distress signal was sent.

The 'One Loyal Death Eater' chuckled darkly. "The emergency spell?" he asked, his voice quite deep. "If I recall correctly, Minister, you sent the whole Magical Law Enforcement Department out to investigate Dolores Umbridge's disappearance, so the presence of staff in the office at the moment should be rather sparse. I do hope intern Dana feels up to dueling the Dark Lord all on her own."

Voldemort turned to stare at Cornelius, a horrible smile on his lipless face, and a high, cold laugh rang about the room.

That was too much for Cornelius, and as a dark cloud enveloped his vision and the world fell out from under him, he felt relief in surrendering to unconsciousness.

* * *

"Morning mail's here!" announced Mrs. Weasley, slipping another 7 pancakes onto Hermione's plate. Hermione got up to open the window, letting the flock of owls fly into the house.

"Hedwig!" she exclaimed happily, spotting the familiar snowy bird who was flying besides the tawny owl delivering the Daily Prophet. "I was just thinking about how long it's been since I've spoken to Harry. I haven't seen him since Dumbledore's funeral. It's good to hear from him."

"No one's seen him since the funeral," said Ron slightly grumpily, "ever since he's gone and gotten himself a new boyfriend he hasn't had time for anyone else."

"Shows what you know, Ickle Ronnikins." Fred contradicted. "George and I saw good Sir Harry just the other day when we went to Diagon Alley."

"Really?" asked Ron, slightly suspiciously, "What was he doing there?"

"Seducing dark wizards in Knockturn Alley dressed as a witch." answered Fred sarcastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ron, he was obviously there buying his school supplies for next year. The better question is-" she added, turning to the twins, "what were  _you_  doing there?"

"Checking out some property." George replied.

"Yes, my darlings, very soon the Weasley Wizard Wheezes will no longer be a business conducted through owl service," Fred bragged.

"but rather a shop." George concluded.

Spotting the darkening of Mrs. Weasley's expression at the twins' mention of their joke shop, Hermione busied herself by opening the envelope from Harry.

Inside was quite a small piece of parchment, that read only:

_Dear Hermione,_

_I thought you should know that I won't be coming back to Hogwarts next year. I've decided to run away with my boyfriend. We made a bit of a show for the press, so don't be alarmed by what you read in the newspaper. I'll drop by later to explain._

_Harry._

_P.S. Tell the rest of the gang as well, I didn't have time to write individual letters._

Highly alarmed, Hermione reached for the Daily Prophet, only to see that it had been commandeered by Ron, whose eyes were as wide as saucers while he read the front page.

"Everything alright, mate?" Fred asked, when Ron emitted a little squeak.

"Let me look at that!" Hermione said quickly, snatching the newspaper from a shell shocked Ron who appeared to be too stunned to speak.

She read the headline and then quickly scanned the rest of the article.

"Merlin's bloody pants, Harry Potter, you'd better have a really good explanation for this!"


	23. Epilogue

Harry lazily flicked his wand, tying the junior Auror to the left of him in thick ropes while Sherlock fired the spell gun that had once been Harry's, stunning an Auror that had been sneaking up behind them. Tom, of course, was showing them both up, dueling four Aurors simultaneously.

Harry turned his wand on one of the Aurors dueling Tom, and, feeling creative, transfigured his robes into stone, making him unable to move, as Tom took care of his remaining Aurors.

The fight was over, quicker than usual this time, and Harry, Tom and Sherlock had won again.

To Harry's surprise, the Auror he had trapped, rather than looking frightened, began to laugh in a manner that Harry felt was rather maniacal. The reason for the mad laughter became clear a moment later, when a bright light began shining on the floor, illuminating runic symbols that had been faintly carved into it. Harry found himself suddenly unable to move his limbs, as he was frozen in place, helplessly looking at the immobile figures of Tom and Sherlock who seemed to be under the same condition.

The Auror laughed again. "It appears the Auror office has received my patronus and activated our new security system. Did you really think you could keep on attacking us outside our own building without us ever catching on? The rest of the Auror team will be here soon to take you in."

Harry had never really panicked before in dangerous situations, he just wasn't the type. He was quick on his feet and dealt with any situation as best he could. But then, Harry was a man of action, practical. What was he to do now that he couldn't move? Perhaps now would be a good opportunity to experience panic for the first time.

Fortunately, before Harry got the chance to figure out how it was done, a beam of red light caught the laughing Auror in the back. A few seconds later, an indistinguishable shape of a disillusioned person moved between the Aurors, and transformed those of them who hadn't been out cold but were simply tied up into potted plants.

Once Harry, Sherlock and Tom were the only witnesses left, the figure's camouflage dropped off it as the Disillusionment Spell was removed.

Harry's eyes widened in shock as the figure revealed itself to be Professor McGonagall.

He was unable to speak, of course, but she must have seen the confusion in his eyes, because she flushed slightly before saying shortly, "Oh, don't give me that look, Potter, they're all going to turn back into humans within twenty minutes."

That hadn't actually been the reason Harry was shocked, but there was nothing he could do to explain himself, being frozen as he was. Meanwhile, his former teacher had begun circling the three of them.

"Hm... Some sort of freezing charm connected to the ground. Step aside, Potter, to let me see the runes on the ground- oh, never mind."

She looked, and hmed for another few seconds before snorting, muttering "Classic Flenders, never been very creative with his spellwork. This should only take a minute, boys." And after a few moments of wand waving and muttering Harry felt as if a sudden weight had been removed from his body, and when he tried, he found he could move his arms.

"Professor!" he exclaimed "Thank you!"

"Think nothing of it, Potter. " she said, smiling slightly, "I'm glad to help a former student. Even if the student was an especially troublesome one."

"Why-"

"I really must be going, Potter. The backup that Auror Stevenson summoned will be here at any moment."

"Wait!" Harry said. Professor McGonagall, along with most of the remaining Hogwarts staff, were a part of his life that Harry had thought was over once he publicly announced his defection to the dark side. He had never expected to encounter Professor McGonagall again, and especially never expected her to help him escape Aurors if they did meet.

"Potter, now is really not the most opportune moment for a reunion chat, with Aurors hot on your heels. You may be willing to risk Azkaban by antagonizing the Magical Law Enforcement twice a week, but not all of us live for thrills."

"I just wanted to ask you-"

She cut him off. "I will be happy to catch up, but in a different location. Surely even someone as reckless as you can see that staying here is dangerous."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Harry suggested.

She nodded. "If you can disguise yourself adequately and be there in five minutes, I'll be happy to meet you."

She apparated away, and Harry and Tom took Sherlock's hand and did so too.

The Auror reinforcements that arrived twenty seconds later found only a disassembled trapping curse and a bunch of potted plants.

* * *

"Well," said Sherlock the moment they arrived back at home "you can just kill me now. I've become predictable." He said 'predictable' as if it were a dirty word.

"Yes, we definitely need to step up our game if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, managed to entrap us," Tom agreed, " _The Auror Department_ , for Merlin's sake! I'll never live down the shame of needing rescue from Minerva McGonagall!"

"How about marching on the Ministry with an army of undead?" Harry suggested, "We haven't done that one before, and I remember Sherlock expressing an interest in necromancy. Sherlock?"

"What do you want from me?" Sherlock groaned, lying face down on the couch "I'm utterly useless! Outsmarted by Aurors!"

"He'll recover in around half an hour." Harry said to Tom, rolling his eyes. But spotting the sulky expression on Tom's face (which had returned to look like Tom's face, since he had removed his disguise ring), he realized he was better off avoiding his companions while they were still in a foul mood.

Sometimes Harry worried about the sensitivity of their egoes.

"I'm assuming neither of you want to come with me to thank McGonagall for the help?"

Receiving two grunts of dissent as answers, he shrugged, gulped down a mouthful of Polyjuice from a flask he always kept on him, and once he was transformed, apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Arriving, he spotted Professor McGonagall sitting alone on a stool at the bar, and slid into the seat next to her, giving her a meaningful grin to let her know it was him.

She surveyed him, and raised an eyebrow. "I see that neither of your companions opted to come." she remarked.

"They, er, both have a slight aversion to authority." Harry explained.

"Authority?"

"You were my teacher." Harry replied.

She waved her hand dismissively. "That was years ago. And I would think that my actions today of helping you to escape the law would counter that."

"I was actually really surprised by you doing that." Harry admitted.

She frowned. "Why would you think that? Potter, I know I may have been strict with you in school, but surely you don't think that I would allow you to be sent to Azkaban?"

"Well," Harry replied hesitantly, "I didn't really expect you to approve of my choices."

She hmmed thoughtfully. "Well, normally I wouldn't approve of dropping out of school without completing your education, but in your case I had often worried that your time at Hogwarts contributed more to your survival skills than your magical ones. Hogwarts was never the safe place that it should have been for you, and I can't really fault you for seeking your fortunes elsewhere. In any case, judging by the impressive cloth-to-stone transfiguration I saw you perform on the Auror's cloak, you haven't been neglecting your education completely." She smiled at him approvingly.

"Actually, I was talking about the whole 'joining Voldemort' thing." Harry replied, eying her suspiciously.

McGonagall snorted. "Potter, while the whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement may be idiotic enough to waste their time and resources on chasing you, I am not so easily taken in. Despite what you may believe of my intelligence, it has not escaped my notice that ever since your defection to the so-called dark side there have been no muggle or muggle-born killings, or indeed any disturbance to most of the peace-loving wizarding society. I can't pretend to understand the game you are playing, but you haven't fooled me into believing you've gone evil."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling slightly embarrassed, "alright then. Well, thanks for the help. It's much appreciated, by me at least."

She nodded. "Potter, you are aware that all the teachers who have had the dubious pleasure of having you as their student at Hogwarts share my opinion about your dramatic defection to the dark side? Not a day goes by that Hagrid doesn't announce that you were probably recruited by the Ministry as a secret agent, and he's not the only one who believes in your innocence. Whenever there is news of your latest actions in The Daily Prophet, Filius starts giggling, and Severus rolls his eyes and talks about the ridiculous measures you're willing to go through to get attention."

Harry chuckled at that, and then sighed. "I miss Hagrid. He was my first friend, you know."

McGonagall patted his hand. "I'm sure if you come back to Hogwarts to visit, you will receive quite a warm welcome from all your old friends. Just try to keep out of sight of the first years who never knew you and are prone to sticking their noses where they don't belong."

"I feel like the 'sticking their noses' thing was aimed at me." Harry said.

She shook her head. "That condition lasted far longer than first year with you."

Tom the bartender chose that moment to send two glasses of Firewhiskey dancing down the counter towards them.

"Well, Potter," she said, raising her glass "you drove me to drinking often enough as a student, so it's only fair you pay for my drink tonight."

Harry laughed and clinked his glass against hers before downing his drink.

Forty minutes later, Harry had determined that a sufficient amount of time had passed for Tom and Sherlock's sulky moods to have passed. And even if they hadn't he was beginning to miss them. Still, he couldn't leave at the middle of his argument with McGonagall, that would be admitting defeat.

"I'd like to remind you that it was thanks to my 'sticking my nose where it didn't belong' back in first year, that I prevented Voldemort from getting his hands on the Philosopher's Stone and coming back to life!"

"Without you, he never would have been able to extract the Stone from the Mirror of Erised!" She retorted drily.

Oh dear. She was right, wasn't she?

"Well, in my second year I saved Ginny Weasley's life!"

She had to concede that point to him, and on that triumphant note, Harry felt free to take his leave and head home.

"It was nice seeing you again, Potter. Do come visit Hogwarts sometime soon."

Harry promised he would, and he disapparated away feeling quite pleased.

* * *

He appeared in the kitchen, and found that Hedwig had already been by that morning with his mail. It contained, along with the Daily Prophet (whose headline proclaimed that a You-know-who sighting had been reported by a hysterical witch in Bristol), a letter from Luna.

_Harry,_

_Everything is well here. I am still receiving regular letters from Daddy in Brazil, so I know for sure that as of September 8th he wasn't enchanted into thinking he was a monkey by a Snorting Huffler or eaten by a cannibalistic tribe in a Ringwraith Repelling Ritual. He's hoping to spot a Shrivel-Skinned-Shyster within the next two weeks. He promises he'll send me pictures once he does find one._

_We are all looking forward to seeing you at Hermione's birthday party next week. All of us except Ron, of course, who still thinks you're a traitor. I don't understand how he can believe that the Department of Magical Games and Sports exists, but not that Tom Riddle was possessed by an evil demon that made him do terrible things until Tom finally managed to get rid of it and make amends to you. Are you sure that you still don't want us to publish the story in The Quibbler? If the story appeared in such a prestigious newspaper it would surely lend credibility to the story and may be the thing that finally_  convinces _Ron. Then again, he is a very close-minded individual._

_I hope this letter finds you well and devoid of any life-threatening diseases._

_Love,_  
_Luna_

Harry smiled, cheered by the letter from his friend. The part about Ron hardly stung at all after all this time, and Harry had long ago realized it was to be expected. For someone who had grown up in the magical word he was extremely unwilling to believe in anything he didn't see. He constantly maintained that demons didn't exist and he had never heard of one possessing a person before, no matter how much Harry assured him that that was indeed what had happened to Tom, and no matter how many times he had cited the lack of muggle murders as proof. Of course, demons really didn't exist to Harry's knowledge, but that didn't mean that Ron wasn't being a thick-headed berk about not believing in them. At least the rest of his friends believed him.

Harry headed back to the living room cautiously, hoping that the coast was now clear and Sherlock and Tom had gotten over their fit of pique.

Unfortunately, they hadn't, and Sherlock was still in the exact position Harry had left him in, which he supposed was still better than shooting the wall or clawing at his chalkboard.

Sherlock's mood only improved an hour later when Yorry popped in with news:

"Master Sherlock! Head Auror Scrimgeour is being at the floo! He says to come quick!"

Sherlock sprang up so fast he almost became a blur, and Harry was happy to finally see a smile on his face as he dashed out of the room. Tom, sitting at his desk, perked up as well.

"Where's Dobby, Yorry?" Harry asked. Yorry and Sherlock still didn't get along very well, and all duties that entailed interacting with Sherlock were usually delegated to Dobby.

"Dobby is being changing Noom's diaper." Yorry replied happily, obviously pleased to have gotten the least repugnant of the two jobs.

Harry spotted Tom shudder, a sentiment he himself shared. Baby Noom was very cute, and they were all very fond of him, but the three of them stayed far away when he began excreting foul substances, as babies are prone to do.

Sherlock chose that moment to rush back into the room, skidding on the floor and nearly tripping over Yorry who gave him a scornful look before popping away.

"Harry! Tom! Get your Polyjuice! We have a case up in London! It looks like a serial killer!"

Sherlock's excitement was catching, and both Tom and Harry took their flasks of Polyjuice out of their pockets, and gulped them down with rather less reluctance than was usual.

After a few painful moments, both were shorter and with far fairer hair, and all of them were ready to go.

* * *

"Sherlock, Mr. and Mrs. Watson," Head Auror Scrimgeour greeted them as they entered the crime scene. "Come in."

He led them into quite a messy house and up a flight of stairs, explaining on the way: "Two different deaths. The first was strangled, the second hit by a Killing Curse. We think the victims were both in their late twenties-"

"You think?" Sherlock cut him off.

"Well, you see, the thing that tied both victims together for us is their face- they both look exactly the same. We think that the killer force-fed them Polyjuice Potion before killing them, so we're not completely sure the victims are who we think they are. Still, this body was found in the room of Thelonious Hopkirk, and Thelonious is nowhere to be found, so it's pretty safe to assume that the body is his."

"Right." Sherlock said, slightly doubtfully, as they entered the room.

This must have been the victim killed by the Killing Curse, her body (or rather his body, since the female figure was apparently the product of Polyjuice Potion) was whole, and he was lying so peacefully on the bed that it looked like he was sleeping.

"Have you talked to his girlfriend yet?" Sherlock asked. At Scrimgeour's blank look he added "Did you even know he had a girlfriend?"

"His roommates never mentioned a girlfriend when we interviewed them about the night the body was found, so she obviously wasn't around when it happened and is irrelevant." Scrimgeour sounded defensive. He knew Sherlock well enough to know he would be made to feel like an idiot before the case was over.

"Irrelevant, is she?" Sherlock echoed scornfully.

"Mary - " he said, turning to Tom, "Go talk to the roommates, see if they even knew he was seeing someone. John, I need you to do a few spells for me."

Tom, as he had proved back when Harry first met him as a diary Horcrux, was capable of being quite a charmer, and coupled with Mary Watson's 'feminine wiles' (as Sherlock called it) was the best at getting information out of witnesses. This left Harry as Sherlock's spell-caster, charming victims' skin transparent so Sherlock could see their organs while Tom charmed their elderly grandmothers.

As usual, Sherlock began by spouting out many random facts about the victim. Even after all this time Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out how Sherlock knew what he knew (how could you tell that the man was an amateur Quidditch player who had given it up because of a knee injury, if he was Polyjuiced to look like a frail Brunette who had obviously never played Quidditch in her life?)

Suddenly, Sherlock sprang up in excitement and pulled Harry away by the hand, shouting: "Of course! The Three Broomsticks!"

Harry knew Sherlock too well to expect him to explain, and simply went along with it when Sherlock got Tom, took his hand, and asked to be apparated to surprisingly, not The Three Broomstick, but rather Intestines and Illnesses, a little apothecary deep in Knockturn Alley.

Harry barely managed to catch his breath and recover from the disconcerting feeling of apparating when he spotted a flash of red light out of the corner of his eye. He dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Harry came to to find himself bound in ropes on a dirty rug. He must not have been out for long, because he still looked like his fake persona John Watson. The Polyjuice potion hadn't worn off yet.

A tall willowy woman was walking up and down the room talking. Sherlock must have woken up before Harry, because her diatribe seemed to be directed towards him.

She was gloating over having managed to outsmart the great Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, yes, genius!" Sherlock replied, a sulky expression on his face, "making it obvious how you commit your crime and where you spend your time, and then ambushing me once I went there. Brilliant!"

"That's high and mighty talk for someone who is about to become my fourth victim." She replied, arching an eyebrow "Are you sure you want those to be your last words?"

Harry groaned. He must have hit his head when falling to the ground unconscious because it was throbbing. His scar, which was always the most sensitive during headaches, felt like it was on fire.

Wriggling his wrists, Harry tested the strength of the ropes and his range of movement.

He caught Tom and Sherlock sharing a conspiratorial smirk our of the corner of his eye, as he finally managed to wiggle his hand into his pocket and grasp the pocket knife in it.

It was the third time in the past two weeks that they had found themselves in mortal danger.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> I know that some of you were hoping for scenes that weren't included in the epilogue, but I hope that you enjoyed it nevertheless. Feel free to imagine your own preferred ending :)
> 
> If anyone is interested- I've started writing a new Harry Potter fic (Tom/Harry pairing), and I'm planningYou posting to post it within the next few hours. You reading it will make me happy.
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone's confused about the timeline, this story begins in the summer after Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, making him 15. Sherlock is 17 in this story, and the incident he refers to, with Harry's uncle takes place in the first chapter of 'Order of the Phoenix'.


End file.
